


You Are The Music, You Are The Song

by LicieOIC



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Pianist, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:02:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LicieOIC/pseuds/LicieOIC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Smith is a brilliant, if lonely, pianist. One day he meets Rose Tyler, the girl with an amazing voice, and suddenly, his carefully ordered world is turned upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Can You Lose?

**Author's Note:**

> Music has and always will be important to me, that's why a lot of my fics feature music. This fic centers on it, so I recommend looking up the songs referenced so that you can fully appreciate the depth.
> 
> This fic is all in first person from the Doctor's point of view. As I am not male, this made it a challenge to write. However, I am very pleased with how it turned out. I hope you enjoy it.

People who knew me in the music business would say that my tux was bad luck. Because if I happened into a city with a working orchestra, the pianist would inevitably get sick and I would be called to stand in. Maybe that was one reason I never wore formal attire during my own concerts, preferring my much-lived-in pin-striped suit and well-worn plimsolls. That, and they were comfortable and the more relaxed I was, the better my music. At least, in my opinion.

I never had a permanent gig. Couldn’t stand being tied down to one place, playing the same shows over and over, listening to the same tired singers. I loved traveling, seeing new places, meeting new people, hearing and playing new music. So, I became the consummate stand-in. Pianist ill? See if John Smith’s in town. I had quite a reputation.

I never made mistakes. Ever. Notes on the staves flowed as effortlessly from me as air from my lungs. I was widely known as the best sight-reader in England, though my reach often went further than my native country. However, I always returned to London. Something about it just instantly put me at ease. The sound of people and cabs in the street, the sight of the heavens opening just before a big downpour, the smell of chips from the pub down on the corner; everything about it said ‘home.’ It was the only place that ever came close to feeling that way for me.

I was at the local chippie when my mobile rang. Checking the caller ID with a vinegar-soaked chip hanging halfway out of my mouth, I was pleased to see it was my agent, Donna Noble. That generally meant work, which was good news for me, bad news for whomever had gotten sick. Maneuvering the chip with my tongue the rest of the way into my mouth, I quickly chewed and swallowed before answering.

“Hello, Donna.”

The static on the other end of the line indicated that she still hadn’t upgraded her mobile service, but her voice came through clear enough, mostly due to Donna’s impressive vocal capacity. “Free tonight?”

“You know I am. I’m in London,” I said, answering what her next question would be.

“Good, the gig’s at the Adelphi. Pianist went into labor, they need someone to cover the final three shows. Think you can handle it?”

“What’s playing?” I could handle three shows as long as it wasn’t something by Wagner. Last time I did that, I was in Sydney and wanted to kill myself by the time Tristan and Isolde were both dead. Donna knew that whatever was being performed would have a bearing on whether or not I took the job and would have looked into it. I had enough blunt to be picky.

“Variety, it’s a solo concert, but I checked, it’s all stuff you like. Some classical pieces, some musical numbers, and even a few songs from the thirties and forties.”

Interesting. “Who’s the singer?”

“Rose Tyler.”

I’d heard _of_ her, of course, but had never heard _her,_ which made the job that much more tantalizing; it was always good to hear new talent, even if they weren’t that great, it helped me to determine the taking on of other jobs. There was one singer making the rounds in the opera circuit, Cassandra O’Brien, and having played one gig with her as the lead was one gig too many.

“All right. It’s a go. Time and dress?”

“Sound check at seventeen, show at twenty, and orch’s on stage, so formal.”

That bloody tux. I made a face, since she couldn’t see it. “I’ll make certain to shine my shoes,” I said, keeping the sarcasm light. “That all?”

“For now. Make me proud!”

“I always do.”

She rang off and I checked the time. It was half thirteen, best to get a move on if I wanted to make sure all the ‘armour’ was lint rolled and pressed before showing up. Shoving a handful of chips in my mouth, I meticulously licked each finger, savouring the salty tangy taste clinging to them, then finished the job with a few paper napkins and headed out the door.

 

There were two large, communal dressing rooms at the Adelphi that were being utilized by the members of the orchestra. I assumed Miss Tyler had her own, to allow for wardrobe changes. I went into the room designated for the men and hung up the garment bag containing my shoes and tux, freshly ironed a few hours before. I always had the suit professionally pressed after each performance, but I enjoyed ironing out the wrinkles that always seemed to form from being touted place to place or squashed in a suitcase too long. It was a ritual, my cue to start getting my head together for the evening.

I made my way to the stage for the sound check, greeting a few people I recognized, and headed for the piano just off center stage. I flipped through the music there, noting a few pieces I particularly liked with pleasure and other pieces that seemed so odd among the others with surprise. I wondered who put together the program. Miss Tyler? More likely her teacher, whoever that was, looking to show off her range. That was the only reason I could see for having classical opera next to show tune medleys.

The stage was simply set, with the different sections of the orchestra on black risers and a white backdrop behind, set up for colored lights and projections. A lone microphone stood center stage, quite close to the piano and where the conductor would stand.

The man came on stage then, a well-respected maestro and one I’d had the pleasure of working with previously, Wilfred Mott. He was a jovial man, though quite serious about music, and known for encouraging young talent. He saw me and came forward with a smile and his hand extended. I shook it heartily, returning his smile.

“Good to see you again, John,” he said. “Any questions about the program?”

I shrugged. “Nothing new. Any surprises I should be aware of?”

“I’m fairly sure you’ll be able to follow along, you noted the progression between the two songs in the medley?”

“And the key change back, yes.” I shifted, flipping through some pages of music. “Am I really just supposed to vamp indefinitely before this piece?”

Wilf laughed lightly. “Yes. I’m afraid you’ll need to watch me very closely for most cues. Miss Tyler has a habit of... well, talking to her audience, among other things.”

Oh, dear. A singer who thought she was cute. Maybe these next three shows wouldn’t be as breezy as I thought, but I could tolerate it. I rarely backed out of a commitment, once made.

The conductor’s eyes flicked over my right shoulder and his smile deepened. “Miss Tyler!” he said, affection in his voice. “We were just about to start sound check.”

I turned and had my first look at the girl. Her smile was the first thing that struck me, straight white teeth and wide, generous lips. Her eyes next, an interesting light brown color, like dark honey, and they seemed to sparkle with good humour. I noted that her hair was colored a sunny blond, as evidenced by her dark brows, and found myself wondering what her real hair color was. She was wearing fitted jeans and a pink hoodie with trainers on her feet and I found myself appreciating our apparently shared sense of comfort. I looked away before it became obvious that I was observing her, but not before I took in how shapely her legs looked in those jeans.

“Let’s get started, then, shall we?” she said. Her eyes moved over me then, and, of all things, recognition sparked in them. Her jaw dropped as she took a step toward me. “Oh God, you’re John Smith!”

My reputation, evidently, preceded me. I grinned, self-depreciatingly, and held out a hand to her. “That I am. Pleased to meet you, Miss Tyler.”

She took my hand in both of hers, her expression disbelieving. “You’re filling in for Lillian?”

“The last three shows, yes.” I couldn’t help but notice how warm her hands were, how well my fingers curled around hers. I made no move to take my hand back. Her smile was brilliant, different from the smile she had before, I could spy a tiny hint of her tongue touched into one corner of her mouth and I couldn’t look away.

“I can’t believe the Music Doctor is going to play for my concert!”

I blinked. “What?”

She blushed, the pink of her cheeks flattering her, but my brain was still rotating around the bizarre title. “Sorry... My teacher called you that once. Because you’re so precise, you never make any mistakes! Exactly what you’d want in a doctor.” She seemed to realize at that point that she was still holding my hand and belatedly dropped it. Oddly enough, I felt... disappointed. She was looking at her nails, picking at the cuticles, and mostly avoiding looking at me. “I just... I’ve always tried to emulate you. With voice, I mean. Striving for perfection.”

Embarrassed, I ran a hand through my hair and rubbed the back of my neck. “Welllll... Perfection’s overrated.” I took a step closer to her and was pleased when she turned those unique eyes back up to mine. “Just remember...” I whispered conspiratorially. “A mistake played with authority is an _interpretation.”_

She laughed then, which had been my goal, but I was stunned at the effect the sound had on me. Crisp and effervescent against my ears like champagne bubbles. I found myself chuckling, just from the sheer contagious nature of her laughter. Suddenly, I was possessed by the need to hear her sing. If her laugh sounded like that, then...

I cleared my throat. “Perhaps we should...” I gestured toward the piano.

“Oh!” She looked startled, as though just remembering where we were. I felt an absurd thrill of pleasure at that, too. “Right,” she said, moving before the microphone. “Sorry, everyone! Let’s take it from the top. Joe? You ready in the booth?”

The tinny sound of a man’s voice came through the monitor. “Ready when you are, Miss Tyler.”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her happy expression vanishing under a veneer of calm. When she opened her eyes again, her entire presence had shifted, and she was no longer the sweet girl I’d just met. She was Juliet, she was Carmen, she was Lola... She was every tragic heroine ever invented. And then she began to sing.

Music poured from her throat like pure water from a silver ewer. It surrounded me, washed over me relentlessly, I knew there was no hope of ever escaping the torrent of sound, it would follow me, would haunt me. The emotion she poured into each phrase made me want to weep from the sheer beauty of it. Her voice made me feel like I, at last, after so many years of just playing the notes, truly understood why music was written.

Suddenly, she stopped, turned from the microphone, and looked at me. I hastily closed my slack mouth. She’d only sung a few bars, why did she stop? She shouldn’t ever stop. Why was she looking at me with her brow furrowed like that? Why was... _everyone_ looking at me that way?

Wilf tapped his music stand with his baton and my attention snapped to him out of habit. “John...” he said, his voice betraying a note of amusement. “You were meant to be playing there.”

Curse blushing. Curse the noun, curse the verb, curse the act! I could feel it creeping up my neck, into my cheeks, all the way to my ears, and I buried my face in my music, making a show of reshuffling it, while muttering many apologies. I felt like an idiot, I’d never behaved so unprofessionally before! I never missed my cues! And then this girl, this _girl_ barely in her twenties, reduced me to jelly in a few notes, beautifully, artfully, unforgettably rendered... Gah!

I chanced a glance up at her. Big mistake. She was smiling again and I didn’t think I’d ever be able to get the sight out of my head. I wondered how many shades of red I was turning at the moment.

“It’s all right, Mr. Smith,” she said, and that cheeky little touch of tongue was back. “Not quite a doctor after all?” Stunned by her teasing, I floundered for a response, but she was already turning her attention back to Wilf. “Again, maestro?”

He raised the baton and this time, I was ready, albeit a tad warm around the collar.

 

Later, I was indulging in my other pre-show ritual: standing in the wings, listening to the crowd come in and find their seats. I liked to close my eyes and imagine faces for the people out there. I always thought music sounded better if you had a picture of who you were playing for. Years ago, that had been my mum... but her memory was far too painful. Better to imagine someone new, someone fresh, someone whose eyes lit up when they heard beautiful music.

Unbidden, a flash of Miss Tyler’s face popped into my head. She certainly had... animated features. Who was I kidding, she had a hell of a lot more than that. After changing into my tux, I’d spotted her in the hallway backstage, vocalizing. She had switched out of her hoodie and jeans into a gorgeous halter-style silver gown with a long skirt, and her hair fell in soft waves around her face. She’d put on a bit of makeup as well, enhancing her already stunning looks. She spotted me then, standing there staring like a dolt, and gave me a smile and a little wave. I felt like I was fifteen again, fluttering my fingers at a girl across the classroom. What was it about that smile of hers, that it made me feel so... guh??

That was it. She’d taken my words. That just does NOT happen to me. I’d turned and went to the wings where I remained, focusing on my breathing, listening to people mill about beyond the curtain. I had to get my head back together. This was London, not the back of beyond. People knew me here. If I cocked this up, it would follow me, and if I stopped getting jobs... Well, I didn’t really need the money, but if I couldn’t perform anymore... It didn’t even bear thinking about. Music was my life.

I took my seat at the piano as the rest of the orch took their places. Wilf stood at his podium and Miss Tyler stood before the microphone, choosing to be onstage at the start of the show, rather than make an entrance. Everyone watched her as she took a deep breath, shaking her hands at her sides. How interesting, that she would still get nerves, but then, I supposed she was still very young. I found that particular trait rather endearing.

She glanced over her shoulder at Wilf, who gave her a smile. She gave a small bow to the rest of the company with her hands clasped in front of her, silently thanking them before the start, and I saw several folks nod. She seemed to be genuinely liked. I was surprised when her eyes settled on me and she gave me another heart-thudding smile before turning back to the mic and ‘becoming’ the character she needed to be to emulate the song. The lights dimmed, obscuring my vision of her and I jerked my head back into the present. Wilf raised his baton and we began to play the short introduction as the curtain rose.

The opening song was _Nessun Dorma,_ the one that had so stunned me at the sound check. A heavy operatic piece was unusual to open with, particularly since this one was traditionally sung by a man, but Miss Tyler captured it beautifully each time. The white backdrop was dappled with blues, greens, and violets, shimmering like a _Waterlilies_ painting. The same lighting effects were played on her gown, making her dress look like a living watercolor. It was a good thing I knew the song so well, my fingers unerringly moving across the keyboard, because I could hardly take my eyes off of her.

As she finished the soaring end notes, her high soprano effortlessly matching the _fortissimo_ of the instruments, I felt my heart soaring with her. What a voice this girl possessed! I wondered who else in the audience was hearing her for the first time, wondered if they had the same reaction, the same elevation of spirit.

The applause was deafening. Of course. She offered a small bow, smiling widely, before encompassing the orchestra with a sweep of her arm. We stood and bowed, a move we would repeat before the interval.

“Good evening!” Miss Tyler said into the microphone, her voice echoing across the auditorium, she was greeted with a bit more applause. “I know that’s not a popular piece to start you off with, but I figure, if I can hit all those big high notes without popping an eyeball or passing out, then we’re off to a good show!”

The audience laughed and I found myself chuckling along with them.

“Now let’s have some fun!”

We launched into the next number, a rousing rendition of _We’re in the Money,_ which she sang part of in Pig Latin to the delight of the audience (I could barely keep from laughing out loud), cut with a few verses from _Pennies from Heaven,_ during which she walked down a few steps from the stage to the front row and showered the audience members with large gold sequins from a small handbag she’d retrieved from Wilf’s podium.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun during a gig. Probably the last time I’d done an open mic thing, playing whatever I wanted, in whatever style I wanted. That was ages ago, before Donna even... I hadn’t realized how much I missed that. Rose Tyler, with her smiles and her chatter to the audience and her contagious enthusiasm, made me see that I’d lost the fun of my job, and it had become a _job,_ rather than something I loved doing. Suddenly, three nights of performing with her seemed like far too brief a time, something that shocked me deeply. But the pit in my stomach that left me feeling gutted whenever I thought of never seeing that smile, never hearing that voice first hand again, could not be ignored.

We’d gone through several numbers by then as my thoughts had spun inward, I had no idea how much time had passed, my hands automatically playing the notes and turning the pages of the music, and then she was introducing someone for a duet. Oh, good grief... It was Jack Harkness, notorious heart-breaker of the arts circuit. Granted, the man had a gorgeous voice, he’d even played Raoul in _Phantom_ across the pond, but he was also known for shagging anything that moved. Or perhaps even certain things that didn’t. I wouldn’t put a tree with a large knothole past Jack.

They sang _Happiness_ from _Passion_ together, effortlessly taking on the roles of two lovers singing about the ecstacy of finding one another in their loneliness. I found myself gritting my teeth as I watched them, noting how well they looked together, bathed in the spotlights. I couldn’t see Rose’s face since she was looking at Jack, but I could definitely see his, smiling and dimpling and making his eyes go all sparkly.

When they’d finished, Jack captured her hand and laid a lingering kiss on her knuckles. My hands twitched, my jaw clenching. How dare he put his mouth on Rose!

My world froze for exactly one point eight seconds.

Why did it matter so much to me who showed interest in Rose? And _when_ had she become _Rose_ rather than _Miss Tyler?_ Why was I feeling so... possessive (and possessive was the word, though my mind searched desperately for another) of a girl I had just met a few hours ago?

I was relieved that we were suddenly standing for our bow before the interval. I desperately needed some air as I had no answers to my own questions and it was much too warm under the stage lights for me to have a proper think. As soon as the curtain lowered, I scarpered off, heading for the stage door. I found a spot on a low wall, away from the stage hands taking a fag break, and lowered my head towards my knees, breathing in great lungfulls of air, trying to fight the sudden onslaught of dizziness.

Pressing my cool hands to my warm cheeks, I fought to restore my equilibrium. I was at a loss... My world, under my full control just eight hours ago, had fragmented. I had to talk to her, to try and understand what she was doing to me. There probably wasn’t enough time now, but perhaps after the show...

“Lovely night, isn’t it?”

Miraculously, I did not scream like a little girl as Rose suddenly appeared at my elbow. I did, however, jump a few inches into the air, despite being seated. She giggled and that effervescent feeling reappeared in the vicinity of my chest. She was dressed in a form fitting blue beaded gown that boasted a strapless design and my mouth went dry.

She gestured at the wall next to me. “May I?” she asked.

My brain began turning again and I took my pocket square from my breast pocket and unfolded it, laying it on the concrete wall for her to sit on. It was dim outside, but I thought I could make out the hint of a blush on her cheeks and I couldn’t help feeling a bit chuffed. Points for chivalry.

She sat down and sipped from a mug that I just noticed she was holding, my powers of observation slowly coming back to me after being limited to exactly how much cleavage she was showing, then smiled at me. I hoped I didn’t look too goofy as I smiled back, the proximity to her was really doing something to my arsenal of smiles, but she didn’t seem to mind it.

“We have about ten minutes before we need to be back,” she said. “Thought I’d cool off a bit. Very warm, those lights.”

“I thought so, too.”

“And you’re wearing wool!”

We chuckled together and I tried desperately to think of something to say. Find someway to ask her, without sounding too daft, if she had this effect on everyone or if I was just special. _Special needs, maybe,_ I thought, dryly.

She surprised me by speaking first. “What do you think of the program so far?”

“Brilliant,” I said, without even thinking about it. “I consider myself lucky that I haven’t made any further mistakes, I find...” My brain caught up with my mouth then and I knew I was blushing again, for rambling on without thinking what I was saying. I did that sort of thing a lot, I knew, but around her... That could be dangerous.

However, she wasn’t about to let me off so easily. “What?”

And I found that I couldn’t resist that smile anymore than a flower could resist turning towards the sun. I cleared my throat which was suddenly hoarse. “I find myself wanting to watch you, rather than concentrate on the music.” At her surprised expression, I prattled on, hoping that I could cover my embarrassment in a torrent of words. “You’re really quite an engaging performer, the audience just eats right out of your hand. You haven’t made a single mistake, or _interpretation,_ rather and you blended well during the duet, have you sung with Jack before? You seemed rather comfortable together, but then, you’ve already shown what a marvelous ability you have to emulate the music so perhaps it just comes naturally to you...” I trailed off as she giggled again. I coughed. I really must learn when to stop. Right. And dogs must learn how to meow.

She held out her mug to me. “Tea?” she asked.

I looked at her dumbly.

“You coughed a bit.”

Oh. “Er... My throat’s a bit dry.”

She pressed the mug into my hands, and I briefly savoured the warmth of her fingers brushing against mine. “This is perfect, then. I have it at every interval. Please, try it.”

I looked at the white ceramic mug in my hands and saw the pale pink print of her lipstick on the rim. I couldn’t... But I saw it coming closer and closer, as if I’d lost control of my motor functions, and I closed my eyes as I touched the place her lips had been moments before, sipping her tea and letting the warmth spread through me at our indirect kiss.

“What are you working on next?” I heard myself asking.

Her eyebrows lifted a bit, surprised, I expect, by the abrupt turn in conversation. “Actually, I’m supposed to put together a program for a charity show. I’m sort of at a loss for what to do, though... You may have noticed that this show sort of jumps all over the place.”

So, she did choose the music herself after all. “I did at that.”

She shrugged. “I just chose whatever I liked, the music I love singing. But I want to do better this time round, those kids deserve every bit I can raise for them.”

“Do you want some help?” It just came out.

Her mouth dropped open a bit, not surprising considering how shocked I was at my own offer. “You mean... you’d help me?”

And just like that, I’d found a way to spend more time with her and grasped on with both hands. “Of course. I’ll even be your pianist.”

My heart skipped when she smiled brilliantly and threw her arms around me. My hand not holding the mug half-full of tea came around her, my fingertips just brushing the bare place between her shoulder blades at the top of her gown. Her hair was against my face, and I breathed in the light scent of vanilla. _Oh, for the love of... She smells like cookies..._ I wanted to run my tongue along her neck to see if she tasted as good as she smelled, but I was thankfully saved that embarrassment as she pulled away, still smiling.

“I’ll give you my mobile number after the show,” she said. “So we can discuss when to meet up.” She bounced a bit in excitement and it took every bit of self-control I had not to stare at what exactly bounced along with her. “Thank you so much, Mr. Smith!”

“John,” I said, deciding then and there that I wouldn’t stand on ceremony with her. I grinned again, teasing her as I added, “Or you could always call me Doctor.”

She laughed, tossing her head back a bit, treating me to a nice look at the column of her neck. “Could I really?”

A nickname. Something within me flipped over at the thought of such an intimate thing between us. “Of course,” I said, impulsively. “In fact, you are the only one allowed to call me that.”

That bit of tongue touched her smile and my stomach clenched at the sight. I cleared my throat again and made a show of taking another sip of her tea. “We should... probably get back in there,” I said, tilting my head at the stage door. “Though they can’t really start without you.”

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint the audience.”

I froze as her hand touched my face, her thumb brushing against my lips. I goggled at her, wondering what on earth was happening, as she stared intently at my mouth, a tiny line forming between her brows, as her finger caressed me and little tingles of electricity thrilled through my body. After a time, which could have been a minute or an hour for all I knew, she smiled and took her hand away, looking pleased.

“There,” she said. “Wouldn’t do to have you on stage wearing lippy!”

The penny dropped. I’d gotten her lipstick on me from the mug of tea. I felt utterly absurd and resisted the notion to bang my head against a wall.

She took the mug from my nerveless hand as she stood up. I took back my pocket square and stood as well, fisting the bit of silk in my hand and shoving it in my pocket when I realized how warm it was and why. Perhaps it was the reminder of my earlier chivalry that made me extend my arm to her. Perhaps it was my wish to continue to see that smile for a bit longer. Either way, she twined her arm with mine and I escorted her back into the theater and to the stage where we took our places for the second part of the show.

Things progressed normally from there, Rose being brilliant and all, although my jaw seemed to clench up on its own when Jack came back out for another duet. Something in me just did _not_ like that man looking at Rose the way he did. I supposed it was because, having met Rose, I felt she deserved better than to be played with. Someone who sang the way she did, who _felt_ music like her, would surely love deeply as well.

We’d reached the part of the show that I’d asked Wilf about beforehand, where I was just supposed to vamp through the intro of the next song repeatedly until Rose began singing. We’d not rehearsed this part, so I was watching her carefully for my cue. This song was just Rose and the piano, so I wouldn’t have the orchestra to cover a mistake.

“Back in 1990,” she began, taking the mic from the stand. “A detective film came out, starring Warren Beatty and a blonde bombshell.” She paused. “Not me.” The audience laughed. “I would have been a little girl at the time!” More laughter. “But the film had the most beautiful music and I thought someday, I’m going to sing some of that wonderful music and now’s my chance.”

She walked back behind the piano, hips swaying a bit in time to my playing, and grabbed a small black pillow off the stage, setting it on the lid of the instrument. She climbed up a little step ladder, also painted black to blend in with the rest of the set, and settled herself down on top of the piano. Gulp. She was close, really close. Focus, man. NOT on the cleavage. Keep playing.

Rose took another moment to playfully plump the pillow, earning another round of giggles from the audience, before resting her elbow against it and raising the mic to her lips as she reclined like Marlena Deitrich on... the lid... of my piano. Well, not _mine_ mine, but... oh, hell, I’m supposed to be focusing...

She sang one of the lesser known songs from the film she’d mentioned, but it was one that I’d always liked. We seemed to have a shared love of Sondheim, as she’d sung quite a few of his numbers that night. And she made the song of warring emotions and unrequited love sound so wistful, I wanted to hold her in my arms and tell her everything would be all right.

 _What can you lose? Only the blues._  
Why keep concealing everything you're feeling?  
Say it to him, what can you lose?  
Maybe it shows, he's had clues, which he chose to ignore.  
Maybe though he knows, and just wants to go on as before...  
As a friend, nothing more. So he closes the door.

 _Well, if he does, those are the dues._  
Once the words are spoken, something may be broken,  
Still, you love him... What can you lose?  
But what if he goes? At least now, you have part of him.  
What if he had to choose?  
Leave it alone. Hold it all in.  
Better a bone, don't even begin.  
With so much to win, there's too much to lose.

She turned to look at me as she finished the last note, her face softening. She leaned forward and touched my face, much like she had outside, only this time her thumb brushed my cheek and I was surprised to feel wetness there. Her hand came away, bearing the glistening proof of my emotional response to her, and the smile she gave me was unbearably tender. I ducked my head, unable to look her in the eye, embarrassed, unwilling to look at anyone else onstage who might have seen it.

Thankfully, Rose hopped back down and resumed her performance. I was grateful that she didn’t bring any further attention to me, for a moment I was afraid she’d bring the audience in on what should have been a very private moment. And when I say private, I mean me all by myself with no one the wiser. But I should have guessed. Rose wasn’t cruel.

The rest of the concert passed without incident, which was exceedingly nice, as I was nearly convinced I should take a holiday until I could get all these wayward emotions under control. This whole night had been extremely out of the ordinary for me. Not necessarily all bad... Just different.

We bowed to a standing ovation and a sense of pride came over me, sharing a bit of that moment with her. She was the one in the spotlight, but to share the stage with someone who could command a performance the way she did was something special.

When the curtain fell for the final time that night, I was surprised once again when she came directly to me and gave me a warm hug. Her face was luminous when she pulled back. “Thank you,” was all she said before turning to talk to Wilf about the performance.

I stood there for a moment until I remembered my legs and went back to the men’s dressing room to change out of the stifling tux and into my comfy suit. As I put the formal attire back in the garment bag, I remembered that Rose had promised to meet me after the show. Because I had promised to help her with the charity event. My stomach fluttered a bit. Yep, definitely my stomach.

She was waiting by the stage door in her jeans and hoodie, her hair back in a messy ponytail, her face clean of the stage makeup. She was quite glamorous onstage, but part of me seemed to prefer this Rose Tyler. She seemed more like herself, like a real person, unlike the ethereal creature under the lights. I swung my bag over my shoulder in nonchalance and grinned at her, pleased when she returned it.

I stopped just in front of her. “Wonderful show,” I said.

She blushed. “Thank you.”

I remembered her thanks earlier and my brow furrowed a bit. “What were you thanking me for earlier?”

“Oh...” She seemed flustered. “It was kind of... spur of the moment. I just couldn’t believe you were...” She gestured at her face and the puzzle clicked. She was referring to the _moment._ But her face was so earnest, I knew she wasn’t bringing it up maliciously. “Ever fancy someone you shouldn’t, then?”

 _Oh, yes._ Amazingly, I didn’t say it out loud. I pulled at my ear, trying to come up with a way to answer her that wouldn’t make me more embarrassed. “Well... erm... actually, from your performance, I rather thought that _you_ had. At some point.”

She laughed shortly, but without humor. “Yes, but not in the way the song goes. It was a good thing we broke up, believe me.”

“Then you’re even more impressive than I thought.” Her expression told me she didn’t understand, so I elaborated. “To be able to bring forth that kind of emotion without having experienced it first hand is rather incredible. I was moved.”

She ducked her head a bit. “I find _that_ rather incredible.”

“Rose, do you truly not know how brilliant you are?” It was the first time I’d called her by her first name and I waited to see how she’d react.

She only smiled. “I suppose not.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her mobile. Oh. Right.

I drew mine from the inside of my jacket and we exchanged them to program our numbers. In a flash of cheek, I entered my name as ‘The Doctor’ and was gratified to have her laugh when she took her mobile back.

“Would you have lunch with me tomorrow?” I said before I could think about it too much. “We could start talking about the charity thing.”

She pursed her lips and actually appeared to be thinking about it. It was nice to not be rejected out of hand. “Thirteen too late? I always sleep an ungodly amount after a show and am just rubbish in the mornings in general.”

She was saying yes. Shite. Now I needed a plan. “Do you like chips?”

Her eyes rolled back in her head in an expression of ecstacy. Aaaaand filed. “I _love_ chips.”

I gave her the name and address of the pub down the street from my flat and she confirmed she knew it. How funny to think that she and I might have passed each other there and not known it, but I dismissed that thought. I think one just couldn’t help but notice Rose Tyler.

We were still standing at the stage door and I realized it was becoming a bit awkward. Better get moving. “Can I walk you to your car?”

“Sure.”

I opened the door for her and she giggled as she preceeded me outside.

“You’re an old-fashioned sort, aren’t you?” she asked.

“What makes you say that?” It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it, but the way she said it made me think she found it charming, rather than ridiculous.

“You escort me to my car, you open doors, you held out your arm for me, you practically laid your coat over a mud puddle at the interval.”

“I hardly think a pocket square on a concrete wall is the same thing, but I can appreciate the metaphor.” I paused. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not bad. I’m just not used to it.” She smiled as she looked sidelong at me. “I think it’s rather... sweet.”

No one had ever called me sweet before... Annoying, yes... Rude, definitely... Exhausting, bang on. But never sweet. The sentiment made my heart stutter a bit and I could feel the start of another blush. “Thank you,” I muttered, for lack of anything better to say.

“Well, this is me.”

We’d come to a stop before an old yellow VW Bug and she turned to face me. I had the oddest feeling like I was saying goodbye to a girl after a date and violently squashed the urge to give her a goodnight kiss. She leaned in for a hug and I was able to enjoy the scent of sugar cookies for another few seconds.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Thirteen, at the pub.”

I nodded. “Goodnight, Rose.”

She touched her tongue to her teeth as she said, “Goodnight... Doctor.”

I watched as she drove off, my arm raised in farewell. Ohhh... I was in trouble.

I couldn’t wait to see her again.


	2. Getting To Know You

I looked at my watch for the hundredth time. It was only a few minutes past thirteen, but I’d been at the pub for well over half an hour, unwilling to wear a hole in the rug of my flat with all the pacing I’d been doing since that morning. I’d even taken my garment bag with my tux to the pub with me so I wouldn’t have to return for it later. I didn’t think our conversation would take that long, but on the off chance, I didn’t want to have to cut it short in favor of needing to retrieve my formal wear. Self-consciously, I looked at my faint reflection in the window. Hair, great. Suit, blue one this time, good. Red tie with the circle pattern, matching the tiny red pin-stripes of the suit, good. Nothing on my face that I could see. I was ready. Now, if only she would--

The bell above the door rang and my eyes gravitated toward the sound. My heart gave a few over-loud thuds before I could hush it up as I saw Rose standing there, in a purple top with large buttons under a blue leather coat and jeans again. Slowly, she turned and caught sight of me. Her smile hit me like a bucket of water to the face as I gave her a slight wave. Shush up, heart. 

She came over to the booth I’d appropriated and took the seat opposite me. “Am I late?” she asked, unzipping her coat and laying it on the seat next to her.

“Nope,” I said, popping the ‘p’ for the fun of it. “I was just unfashionably early. Hungry?”

“Starved.”

We ordered two baskets of chips and some ale. I took out a small notebook from my jacket pocket and a pen. Flipping to a fresh page, I asked her, “So, what’s the name of the charity?”

She looked a bit surprised. “Right down to business, then?”

I fidgeted with the pen. “I thought...” I blew out a breath, deciding on honesty. “I thought it might be creepy otherwise.”

“What? For me to be out with you? Without work as a buffer, you mean?”

Top marks for perception. My expression must have given me away because she shook her head, giving me a sweet smile. “I thought it was implied last night that we’d decided on being friends, you and me. You’re going to a lot of trouble, after all, and I couldn’t accept it unless we were mates. That way, I at least have a shot at paying you back.”

“You don’t need to--”

“Ah!” She held up her index finger and I paused, mouth open. She gestured with the upturned digit and I closed it. “I won’t hear another word about it. We’re both donating time and talent, and you’re doing it as a favor, so I owe you one and that’s it.”

I could only admire her decisiveness, so I nodded, which seemed to please her.

She sat back. “Now, before we do the work bit, we do the friends bit, yeah?”

My brain went into overdrive. I had innumerable acquaintances from my travels, but no one I considered a really close friend... How does one do this again? I grasped at the first thing that popped into my head, I knew she slept last night, she’d said she was going to. “Sleep well?” 

She nodded. “Like a log.”

My brow furrowed a bit as the gears revolved around her statement. “Hmm. That doesn’t sound very restful. Do you know that there are hundreds of life forms in any given log? Termites, worms, ants, other crawlies, not to mention many woodland creatures tend to make their homes in logs, and while some of them do sleep at night, there’s still lots going on, enough to keep any good log awake, that is, if they were sentient, which they aren’t by the time they’re logs, cut down and all that. Now, trees on the other hand...” I trailed off as she giggled. Rubbing the back of my neck, I grimaced. “Sorry. Bit of a gob, me.”

I could tell from her tone that she was amused at my babbling. “I noticed last night. That’s all right, I had no idea what a rubbish saying it was. You’re quite informative!”

“Welllll... Travel all over the world, you pick up a thing or two.”

Her expression was a bit envious. “Must be amazing, going wherever you want. Been here in London my whole life, though I’ve often dreamed about going other places. What’s it like?”

I tried to think back, to when I first started wandering. Really, I was just running. From things I didn’t want to think about or deal with, running to avoid the hurt. But then I’d be somewhere new and everything faded to the back in the glow of getting to know some exotic place. 

“It’s... like you’re in a dream,” I said, words coming slowly as I tried to quantify it for her. “Colors are so much brighter, senses are a lot more vivid. And you’re sure you’re going to wake up at any moment, because it’s all too wonderful. Your eyes are always wide open, because you’re afraid you’ll miss something. Something as simple as... snow... is new and magical again because it’s snow from an entirely new sky. When I go somewhere, I don’t just follow a guide book, I jump in, learning as I go. I get charged too much, I get lost, I use the wrong verbs, I eat myself sick, and it’s marvelous.” I paused, tracing little circles with the capped pen on the table. “Well... That’s what it felt like. When I first threw myself out there.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Not anymore? Traveling lose its appeal?”

“No, it isn’t that,” I said. “It’s just...” I sighed. “It does get a bit lonesome.”

She nodded. “Adventures are more fun when you have someone to share them with.”

I was continually amazed by how well she seemed to read me. I narrowed my eyes at her. “Tell me, Miss Tyler,” I said in an overly suspicious voice. “Does telepathy run in your family? Maybe a psychic or two hidden in the closet?”

She laughed. “No! Why would you ever think that?”

I sat back, running a hand through my hair. “I just find it extremely odd that someone I just met yesterday could know me so well.”

“I didn’t Google you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” We both laughed at that. “I swear, I only knew about you professionally, the genius pianist who travels. Personally, I think it just means that we were meant to become mates.”

“It must be. I don’t really have any close mates.”

“There you are, then.”

Our food arrived at that moment and we each set to work, preparing our chips the way we liked them, and then enjoying that first warm bite of fried potato. Rose’s eyes rolled back in her head, much like they had last night, as she gave a soft moan of approval. I repressed a shiver at the sound.

“That is just _gorgeous,”_ she said.

I took a gulp of ale as my mouth had suddenly gone dry and hummed my agreement. Allowing myself to speak then might have resulted in a very unmanly squeak, and that just would not do. I followed it up with a few chips, just in case my gob had any ideas about commenting on the lovely sounds she made while eating delicious vinegar-soaked, salt-sprinkled tidbits.

As I chewed, she asked, “So, did _you_ sleep well?”

I slid my eyes away from hers and swallowed. I should have known she’d turn my question back on me. “Er... Not as such, no. I don’t... sleep much.” Nor did I make a habit of discussing it, but I had a friend now, I supposed one was supposed to talk about such things with them.

“Bad dreams?”

My eyes widened, the thought of telepathy flashing again through my head. But no... It was a logical assumption, I guessed. “Sometimes.”

She reached across the table and covered one of my hands with hers. Remembering how it felt to hold her hand last night, I turned my hand over and wrapped my fingers around hers. She gave it a light squeeze and I felt my heart start up its business again.

The sympathy in her eyes was melting. “I know that we’re new friends, but... well, if you ever want to talk, I’ll listen. I know it can be hard, getting through a tough night alone.”

My eyes searched hers and for a moment, I wondered what troubled her sleep, but I didn’t have the courage to ask. So I just managed a small smile and reciprocated her squeeze. “Thank you.”

The conversation turned to lighter topics, to my relief, Rose taking the lead most of the time as I found my footing, but with her it was surprisingly easy. She was a delight to talk to, with ready laughter and quick to tease me with that hint of tongue poking out of her mouth. I was surprised when I reached for more chips and found my basket empty. How long had we been talking? She giggled as I licked my fingers.

“What?” I asked. 

“You’re licking your fingers.”

Obviously. I started on my thumb. “And?”

She shook her head slightly, clearly amused. “It’s just not something I expected of you. You know so much and yet in a lot of ways, you have this childlike bearing. You’re a study in contradictions. Fascinating, really!”

“So are you.”

She blinked. “What? Childlike, contradicting, or fascinating?”

I felt my face getting a bit warm. “Well... all of those.”

She made a little scoffing noise and took a sip of her drink. “You’re just being sweet again.”

I pointed. “See, it’s things like that. No one calls me sweet. You have this outlook that is so different. You make me see things that really should have been obvious, like last night... I was having so much fun at the concert, I realized that somewhere along the way, filling in at the piano had become a job to me. It took you to make me see that. And you laugh and tease and I see you as this bubbly girl... And then you have these amazing insights, and you sing and I see a woman who is so much more. I...” I stopped, my face burning. She was staring at me like she couldn’t believe what I’d just said, which made sense, since I couldn’t even believe all that just tumbled out of my gob. “Bollocks. I did it again...”

“You... Really?” she asked.

I could only nod, my eyes trained on the table. “You... seem to have a particular talent for making me forget to think before I say something, not that it’s difficult for me to run off at the mouth. I’m... so sorry. Blimey, this is embarrassing...”

“Doctor,” she said, and my gaze returned to her at the use of the nickname. “Honesty might be embarrassing sometimes, but at least it’s the truth. And being honest with me goes a long way, so please... Don’t feel badly. You definitely surprised me, but I’m not sorry you said it.” She blushed a bit and looked down, picking at the cuticles of her nails. “I think you might have a bit of a strange outlook yourself. If you see all that in me.”

At least I hadn’t managed to spit out that I’d really asked her to lunch to get to know her more, and it seemed to be working better than I’d thought. Although the atmosphere was becoming more and more awkward as each new revelation came to pass. I tapped the notebook with the end of the pen, clearing my throat a bit. “Perhaps we should talk a little about your next show, if we want to make sound check on time.”

She glanced at her watch and was clearly surprised to see how much time had passed. “You’re right! Thank you, I would have just kept chatting.”

“Sooo,” I said, coming back to my original question. “What’s the name of the charity?”

“I’m partnering with the Beeb for Children in Need.” I began making notes as she spoke. “My time is donated, yours too, and they’re going to film the concert for broadcast on their charity night. Seats to the concert are sold off with the profit going to the kids as well.”

“Have you any idea what kind of show you want to put on?”

She sighed. “None. I don’t know if I should keep it simple and light-hearted, or go for the heavy stuff and really give the audience their money’s worth.”

“Rose, I think you could do nursery rhymes and people would feel they’d seen a fantastic show.”

She chuckled a bit. “There you go again.”

I tapped the pen against my lips, thinking out loud. “Hang on... There might be an idea in there.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Nursery rhymes? You’re having me on.”

I gesticulated with my free hand. “No, not that, but this is a show benefitting children, yeah? Why not try a show aimed at them? Songs they’d be familiar with, from films and such, and songs that focus on children. It’d be entertaining and way to remind the audience exactly who they’re donating to.”

Her eyes were bright and she leaned forward, becoming more animated as she caught on to the idea. “Why not go a step further? Set aside the first few rows for kids who would be ultimately benefitting from the concert. I’ll talk to the BBC and see if they’re willing to buy out the seats.”

“Or they could put the seats up for auction. Winning bid sponsors a kid to come see the show.”

She grabbed my hand, grinning. “This is brilliant!”

I grinned back, her excitement catching. “Can we meet again tomorrow? I want to go through my music and start sketching together a rough program.”

She nodded. “Absolutely. I’ll bring what I have, too. When and where?”

I hesitated for the barest second before blurting out, “How about my flat? It’s just down the street and my piano is there if we need to run through how something sounds. And it won’t matter if we get sheet music everywhere.” I was having a bit of trouble remembering how to breathe as I asked her, but I somehow managed to speak normally. “Is noon too early? I’ll even supply lunch.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled a bit as she gave me a cheeky closed-mouth grin. “You already know the way to this girl’s heart. Music and lunch.”

“Oh, really? Remind me not to bring you anywhere with singing wait staff. You’d swan off with the first warbling server bearing cake!”

“Then I suppose you’ll never take me anywhere on my birthday, how cruel!”

I could have sworn I was about to pass out from the number of beats my heart skipped just then. The flirting passed between us so quickly and easily, it was over before I realized what I’d said. The implications of the two of us going out somewhere, particularly on such a special occasion as Rose’s birthday, made my stomach lodge somewhere in my esophagus, which should have been physically impossible due to the relative size of each organ. And unless I wanted to make this extremely awkward, there was nothing for it but to brazen through the way I started.

I adopted a faux haughty expression. “I’ll have you know, Rose Tyler, that I am an expert in cake making. And any confection I create that is lucky enough to pass through your lips would be ten times better than any complimentary pudding at some restaurant with off-key wait staff and loud music.”

She lifted her chin, giving me an over-dramatic disbelieving expression. “Is that so, John ‘the Doctor’ Smith?” I barely restrained from grinning. To have her play along with me was thrilling to no end. “Then I say, put your cake where your mouth is.”

My eyebrows lifted. I suspected I might have painted myself into a corner.

“The show closes tomorrow night. You treat me to your amazing cake skills the following night and if I think they don’t measure up, then you have to take me out that weekend and pretend it’s my birthday at a restaurant with singing wait staff.”

Considering I’d get to see her again either way, it seemed like a win-win, but I had to press my luck. “What do I get if you concede defeat to my cake baking prowess?”

She shrugged. “Name it.”

My mind went blank. Of course. “When the time comes,” I said, to cover the fact that I couldn’t think of anything. I held out my hand. “Deal?”

She shook it, firmly. “Deal.”

We both stared at each other solemnly for two seconds, before dissolving into laughter. A bet over cake... It was bizarre, and yet, I felt lighter than I had in ages, warmth spreading through me at our friendly playfulness. I felt so... alive when I was with her. I was drawn, pulled from my comfortable orbit to chase after a blinding star.

She glanced at her watch then and started. “Bollocks! We’d better hurry if we’re going to make sound check!” She began pulling on her leather coat.

I checked the time and hurriedly pocketed my pen and notebook. We’d only fifteen minutes to get across town. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was getting so late,” I said, hastily finishing off my drink. I tossed a few bills on the table, she looked like she was going to argue, but I tapped my watch and picked up my garment bag. In the interest of speed, she conceded and we went outside where I recognized her yellow Beetle parked out front. 

“No worries, I’ll warm up my vocals in the car. Need a ride?”

My car was down the street, but hers _was_ closer... Temptation, thou art Rose Tyler. “Don’t mind giving me a lift back?”

I spotted the tip of her tongue in her smile and it made my insides feel like jelly. “Hop in, Doctor.”

I went around to the passenger side. “I’ll just step in, if you don’t mind. With my height, hopping into your rather small car might do me bodily harm.”

She laughed as the engine revved to life and we sped off.

 

Rose found me at the interval, sitting on the same wall from last night. I was busy writing in my notebook and so I didn’t see her until she pointedly ‘ahemed.’ When I lifted my slightly startled gaze to hers, she gave me an amused look and glanced at the spot next to me. Chuckling, I laid down my pocket square and she took a seat.

She took a sip of her tea and sighed before leaning over to watch me scribble. “Whatcha writing?”

“Ideas to go over tomorrow, songs keep springing to mind and I don’t want to forget them.”

“Always working.”

“Not always. You just inspired me.” I jotted down the name of another song.

“It was your idea.”

“Inspired by you.”

We grinned at each other. The back-and-forth was delightful.

She flicked at my lapel. “Have to say, the tux is quite handsome, but the pin-stripes suit you better.” She poked at my side with her elbow, tucking her tongue into the corner of her mouth. “Get it?”

I groaned, sticking my notebook and pen in my jacket pocket. _“Suits_ me better. Yes, I, unfortunately, get it.”

“Oi! That was right clever!”

“As far as bad puns go, I suppose you could be right.” I straightened my bow tie, smugly. “So, you’re saying I’m handsome?”

She stuck her tongue out at me. “Not after you insulted my _brilliant_ pun. Besides, I don’t think you need someone to tell you how good looking you are. You probably have women falling all over you.”

“Well, I am a bit fit, if I do say so myself.” I paused, not sure if I wanted the conversation to go this way, but I’d be lying to myself if I thought I didn’t want whatever was between us to go further. There was no denying we had chemistry. And if I wanted that, I figured I should ask at some point if it was even a possibility. I could at least attempt to keep it light. “No girlfriends, though. Not for a while. The traveling tends to put them off. Not many women who’ll drop everything and go somewhere they know nothing about.”

“Oh...” 

Damn. I was hoping for a bit more than that. Screwing up whatever courage I had, I threw the penny in the air. “What about you?”

She was staring into her tea. “Well, it might be difficult to leave at the drop of a hat, but I’d definitely go. I already told you I’d love to be able to travel.”

“No, I meant...” It almost sounded like she was avoiding what I was really asking. Why didn’t she want me to know? Maybe she just didn’t want to make things easy on me. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

She looked sidelong at me and lifted an eyebrow. “Why? Are you interested?”

I shoved my hands in my trouser pockets, trying to appear at ease, though my heart was pounding. “What if I am?”

She didn’t answer, biting on her lower lip and looking at the ground. Suddenly, the penny dropped and I had a clear picture of why she didn’t want to say anything before. She wasn’t interested but she was far too nice to say it to my face. She was probably trying to think of a way to let me down easy. Oh, I cocked this right up.

“Sorry,” I said, removing one of my hands from my pocket to rub the back of my neck. I knew I was making a riot of my hair, but I couldn’t be bothered. “I must be daft, thinking you might... I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Of course you wouldn’t--”

“It’s not that.” Her voice was so soft, I thought for a moment I imagined it.

“What?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the stage door and I realized we should probably get back inside. She looked back at me, her eyes conflicted. “Listen... I...” She stopped, shook her head, then tried again. “You deserve an answer. But it’s complicated. Later, yeah? When I take you home.”

I nodded, words having evaporated. She gulped her tea then stood. I took back my pocket square, once again stuffing the warm silk in my trousers, and stood as well. Without a word, I offered her my arm and, with a gentle smile, she took it and we headed for the stage.

I finished out the show on auto-pilot, my brain continually revolving around what Rose might tell me afterward, coming up with all sorts of scenarios, each more horrifying and less plausible than the last. I had just come to ‘dying in six months’ when I realized it was time for the final bow. When the curtain fell, we all went backstage and I changed back into my blue suit. This morning when I first put it on seemed days ago. Slinging the garment bag with my tux over my shoulder, I took a deep breath and went to meet her by the stage door.

I waited for her this time, each minute passing as an hour, thinking that perhaps she was taking longer to change than usual because she wanted to delay to inevitable. Maybe I should take back what I said, or say I was joking, or... something! Anything to end this slow torture. Bloody gob, running away like it owns the place. Always getting me in trouble.

A hand touched my arm and I jumped. Rose had managed to sneak up on me again, and she giggled as I felt my cheeks redden. 

“You must have been thinking awfully hard,” she said. “I called your name.”

“Something on my mind,” I muttered before stepping to the door and opening it for her. She preceeded me outside and I let the door fall shut behind me. I stuffed my free hand into my pocket as we walked toward where she had parked, gravel crunching underneath my chucks. The night air felt good after the relative warmth of the stage area.

“Sorry for leaving you in the dark,” she said. “It’s just...” She sighed. “I want to be totally honest with you, like you’ve been with me, and the answer isn’t as straightforward as I’d like.”

I nodded. “I appreciate that. And in the vein of being honest, I want you to know that I am utterly terrified.”

She smirked as she glanced at me. “You don’t seem like a man who’s terrified.”

“Didn’t know I could act, did you?” The laughter eased the tension a bit, but not much. “Creepy crawlies, heights, public speaking, all fine. But pretty ladies scare the hell out of me.”

She ducked her head a bit, blushing. “So, I’m pretty?”

“Well, you called me handsome. And we’re being honest. Fair’s fair. Besides, I think you knew that.”

“Still nice to hear it.” She unlocked the driver’s side door of the Beetle, got in, and reached across to unlock the passenger side for me.

I dropped into the seat, folding the garment bag in my lap. I tried to relax, but in the trying failed miserably. She shifted into gear and we headed out. At least with her eyes on the road, I didn’t feel the need to keep my eyes averted from her, afraid of what she might see there.

Rose took a deep breath. “The short answer is, yes, I have a boyfriend, and no, I don’t date.”

“Bit of a contradiction.” The sarcasm was more a shield than anything else, as I felt my heart plummeting into my trainers.

“I told you it’s complicated.” She shoved a wayward lock of hair behind an ear. “This is something I don’t talk about, all right? But I trust you. So I’m telling you.”

I could tell this wasn‘t an easy thing for her, so despite her previous statement, I nodded. “I’m listening.”

“Thank you.” She paused. “When I was sixteen, I got together with this bloke. He was a bit older than me, gorgeous, in a band, and I couldn’t believe he liked me. So, I did everything he wanted. I left school and never got my A-levels and moved in with him against my mum’s wishes. I worked to support him while he ‘worked’ on his music.” She snorted. “The whole time we were together, he never played one gig. I should have known, but I was so young.”

She was still young, but I supposed this was the story of her growing up before she should have. I remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

“I should have left when he told me not to see any of my old friends. Or when I started accruing debt. If nothing else, I should have left the first time he came home pissed and hit me.”

My head snapped up. “What?” My voice had gone low and dangerous. My hands clenched reflexively on my knees. The thought that _anyone_ had put a hand on Rose made my blood turn to fire.

I could see her eyes shining with unshed tears in the ambient glow of the passing streetlights and I wanted to rip the bastard in her memories apart. “He always apologized afterward, he cried and begged me, he called me his ‘muse.’ God, I was so stupid. I believed him. It wasn’t until I started feeling like it was okay that I realized I needed to leave him. It should never have taken that long. I went back to my mum that night.”

Relief surged through me that this punk, whoever he was, wasn’t in her life anymore. “Then... your boyfriend?”

“Mickey. We grew up together. For a long time, I couldn’t even be near other blokes but he... made me feel safe. I’m not even sure when we first started ‘dating,’ we were just always together. I started to trust people again because of Mickey. Rebuild my life, find out who _I_ was, started getting out of debt. I owe a lot to him.”

I set my mouth in a grim line, willing my gob to NOT say what I was thinking for once. She glanced at me.

“What?”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Of course I love him.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She didn’t respond, which only compounded my thoughts on the matter. I sighed, allowing my words to come out slowly so I didn’t blurt out something hurtful. “Rose, I appreciate you sharing this with me, I know it wasn’t easy, and the fact that you trust me enough to tell me means a lot. And that’s why I’m not going to say what I really want to because I don’t want to be another bloke who’s hurt you.”

We drove onto my street and I pointed to the building I lived in. She parked but put a hand over mine when I would have unlocked the seatbelt to leave. I lifted my eyes to hers, but it was dark and I couldn’t quite make out her expression.

“Tell me,” she said, quietly. “I think-- I _know_ you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. And I want your honesty. I owe you at least that much.”

“You don’t owe me anything...”

“Tell me,” she said again, her hand tightening on mine when I tried to leave again.

I took a steadying breath. “This bloke, Rickey--”

“Mickey.”

“Whatever. You’re not with him because you’re in love with him. Yes, you love him, but it’s not the same. He makes you feel safe, comfortable, like an old blanket, which was exactly what you needed when you left the _ceann cac.”_ I only cursed in Gaelic when I _really_ hated something. “Now, I suspect, you’re only with him out of habit, or because it’s expected, or out of a sense of duty. Am I hitting the target at all?”

She was silent and her hand hadn’t left mine. Her lack of denial gave me a surge of courage, so I continued. “Rose,” I said, softer now. I turned my hand around to lace my fingers with hers. “Does Mickey ever come to see your shows? These past two nights, I haven’t seen anyone waiting for you backstage.”

She shook her head. “He’ll come see one, but then he says you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”

I scoffed. “That’s rubbish. Absolute bollocks. I can’t take my eyes off you when you’re performing, and you know what my reputation is. My feet get itchy if I stay in one place too long, I get bored of playing the same music.”

“I know.”

I leaned in a bit. “So, then, tell me... Why is it that I suggested helping you with your next show? Committed myself to weeks of planning material with you, staying in the same city, rehearsing the same program? I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t because I love philanthropy.”

She chuckled softly and I smiled. 

“I wanted to spend more time with you, Rose.” My thumb lightly rubbed against the back of her hand. “I’ve only known you two days and every time I’m with you, I feel enthralled, utterly lost, fascinated. The things I go to new places for, I feel when I’m with you. And that has never happened to me before. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t feel safe with the one you’re with, far from it, but you should also feel... alive. Like your whole world lights up because they walk in the room. Every cell in your body should shiver when you touch them.” I stopped, not wanting to go so far to say that it was the way she made me feel. I cleared my throat. “If you do feel those things with him, then fine. I won’t say another word, other than in apology.” I gave her hand a little squeeze before letting go. “Thank you... for trusting me with an explanation, for listening to me, and for the ride home. I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch?”

She nodded and I unbuckled the seatbelt. “Flat number ten, then. Good night, Rose.”

“Good night, Doctor.”

I opened the door of the Beetle and stepped out. I watched her drive away. I could only hope her silence meant she was thinking about what I said, and not that she was shutting me out. I took a few deep breaths and my heart fluttered down to a normal pace. She hadn’t told me off or said she never wanted to see me again. I guessed that was a good thing. My cards were on the table and the ball was in her court. Oi, mixed metaphors. I made a face and headed up to my flat. I decided I would wait for some sign from her, til then, we were just mates preparing for another concert.


	3. A Dangerous Game

I was just finishing the sandwiches with a toothpick through the center of each when the doorbell rang. I glanced at the kitchen clock and smiled when I saw it was just before noon. After our conversation last night, this morning I had some residual fear that Rose might not show up. Something close to elation was tripping through me to know that I’d been wrong. Brushing my hands on my jeans, I went to open the door.

“Hey,” she said, but whatever else she was about to say died as she gaped, taking in my appearance from head to toe. I glanced down at my dark red henley and faded jeans. Oh... This was probably the most casual she’s ever seen me. Her eyes traveled back up to mine and I couldn’t help but return her grin. “Even slumming it, you manage to look nice.”

“Thank you?” I said with a little chuckle. 

I stepped back and she came into the flat. She set down her purse and a large tote bag brimming with sheet music and shrugged out of her leather jacket to reveal a light blue jumper. Her fitted jeans tapered into smart ankle boots and she turned on the heel to hand her jacket to me. I hung it up next to my tan overcoat by the door.

She paused at the entrance to the large living area, taking in the light hardwood floors, the modern sofa and coffee table, currently covered in music books, the floor to ceiling bookshelves, and the grand piano at the far end near the windows. She nodded, as though it was what she expected or perhaps it was just approval. “Nice,” she said. And I supposed it was... I used this flat far more than any of the other places I resided, so it had the most personal touches, a few pictures here and there, and of course, the piano.

“I like it,” I said, moving around her to head for the kitchen. “Lunch first?”

She followed me. “What are we having?”

I set two plates on the small table in the breakfast nook, pushing aside the morning paper and several pages of music. “BLT with peppered, applewood smoked bacon on wheat.” I’d also put some crisps on the side and I grabbed a banana out of the fruit bowl for myself. “What would you like to drink?” I asked, going to the fridge. “I’ve got milk, orange juice, sparkling water, aaaaand wine and beer, though it may be a bit early for that.”

She giggled. “Sparkling water, please.”

I grabbed us each a bottle and sat down opposite her at the table. As we settled into eating, the sheer domesticity of the scene surprised me. I waited for the feeling of violent rejection to sweep over me, as it usually did whenever I was faced with the permanence of something, but it didn’t come. Instead, I felt a sort of... calm, seeing Rose there across the table, eating a sandwich I’d made for her, and idly glancing at the papers I’d left strewn about. It made my stomach twist in a way I was unfamiliar with and I instantly attacked the banana, knowing it’s sweet goodness would calm my rebellious tummy twisting.

“So,” she said around a crisp, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Have you decided yet what cake to try on me tomorrow?”

I chuckled deep in my throat like a corny villain in a movie. “Oh, Rose Tyler... You just _wait_ and see what I have for you tomorrow.”

She snorted. “You mean you have a plan? I’ll believe that when I see it.”

I pressed one hand to my chest with an expression of hurt. “You wound me!”

“Well, you have to admit, the thought of you baking cakes is a little difficult to believe.”

“Even with the lunch I painstakingly made for you today?”

“Sandwiches are one thing, cakes, especially with the build up you gave them, are another.” She lifted an eyebrow at me. “I mean, with the mouth you have...”

My brow furrowed as she trailed off, as if I was supposed to know what the end of the sentence was going to be. “What? What’s wrong with my mouth?” I used a napkin to make sure there wasn’t anything dripping from it and she laughed.

“We both know that your gob tends to run away with itself. I just get the feeling sometimes that your mouth writes checks your arse can’t cash.”

I burst out laughing, with her joining in a second later. The mental picture she’d created tickled me so deeply and I shook as the laughter just kept coming. I wiped at my suddenly damp eyes, struggling to breathe. “I don’t think anyone’s ever described my speech habits quite so accurately before!” I let out a deep breath, finally getting a handle on my mirth. “Thank you, I haven’t laughed like that in... ages.”

“Maybe you needed it, then,” she said with a wide smile. And it occurred to me that she was probably right.

We eventually meandered out into the living area and sat on the sofa, where I had a steno pad full of songs to consider. She pulled a piece of paper covered with her own writing out of the tote bag and we compared ideas; I noted with pleasure that we’d selected a lot of the same songs. We chatted for a long time, bouncing different songs around, trying to pin down what we thought would work within the theme. Rose agreed to _Children of Eden,_ something I was unsure of due to the somewhat non-secular lyrics, but she turned her nose up at _Look With Your Heart._

“It’s a mother singing to her child,” I said.

“It’s a mother trying to convince her child that his abusive, alcoholic father loves him even though he never shows it.” She crossed it off my list resolutely. “And any song like that does _not_ deserve a spot in our show.”

I glanced at her. It was the first time she’d referred to the show as ‘ours.’ She was still looking at the lists, seemingly unaware that she’d said anything out of the ordinary, so I said nothing. Instead, I went to the piano and lifted the dust cover from the keys. 

“I had a bit of a brainwave this morning,” I said. “I was thinking about _What Can You Lose_ and started pondering other songs from films. Have you heard this one?” I began playing and sang the lyrics for her.

_When you’re all alone, far away from home,  
There’s a gift the angels send when you’re alone.  
Everyday must end, but the night’s a friend,  
Angels always send a star when you’re alone._

Recognition sparked in her eyes and she stood to join me at the piano, leaning over the lid. “That’s from _Hook,_ isn’t it?”

I grinned, halting my hands. “Yep. I thought that you could start with _No One Is Alone_ from _Into the Woods_ and cut it with _When You’re Alone_ and then segue back.” I played part of the bridge from the first song, then slowed into the key change and played the beginning of the second. She nodded thoughtfully and I continued. “And then at the end of it, we move back into _Someone is on your side...”_ I moved my hands into my lap. “What do you think?”

She tilted her head to the side. “I think, if we work on the transitions, it could be really beautiful.” She smiled. “Brilliant, Doctor.”

I plunked a few keys to punctuate her statement and she giggled a bit, glancing down at the instrument she leaned on. When she looked back up at me, her expression seemed a bit shy as she tucked her tongue in the corner of her mouth. “I had no idea you could sing, too.”

My hands automatically played through a few random strains of music as I avoided her gaze, trying with all my might not to blush. With the maroon of my henley, I might actually look like a strawberry if I did. “Wellll... I don’t have a great voice. I’m no Jack Harkness.”

She laughed, turning around to lean her elbows on the lid of the piano and tilting her head back. “Ah yes, the man who uses his name as a chat up line.” We both shared a chuckle at that, but inside I found I was relieved to know that Rose was onto the tricks of his charm. “There’s no denying Jack has a great voice, but you can’t really compare yourself to him. It’s not that your voice is bad, just different.”

“Good different, or bad different?”

“If I thought it was bad different, I would have said so,” she said, a lock of blond hair falling across her face as she turned her head to look at me. “That said... I wonder if you might entertain an idea I had.”

She sounded hesitant and my eyebrow lifted curiously. “Tell me.”

“Well,” she began slowly. “You already know that we’re donating our time to the cause, we’re not getting paid to perform the concert.” I nodded and she went on. “I didn’t want to ask anyone else to collaborate, because they’d have to work pro bono, too, or I’d have to pay them myself and I’d rather the money went to the kids. Still, a whole concert of just me severely limits the material we can choose from. I thought it couldn’t be helped, but... hearing you sing just then...”

She trailed off and the idea clicked. My eyes widened. “You want me to sing with you?”

She sat down next to me on the bench, but I was still too surprised by what she’d said to fully enjoy the warmth of her thigh pressed against mine. “Would you?”

“But... but I’m not...” Sure, I sang a bit, but that didn’t mean I was up to her caliber. I had a decent tenor, but I always thought it sounded just a little harsh. Thinking back to that first night and her voice like silver water, I was sure I’d sound like a dying cat in comparison. I shook my head. “There’s no way we’d sound good together.”

“How do you know?”

“I had a bit of training, once upon a time, but I’m not classically trained,” I said, beginning to feel a bit flustered. “I’m not Jack, I don’t have ‘Disney Prince Voice.’ Our voices couldn’t possibly blend.”

She crossed her arms, lifting an eyebrow in challenge. I nearly groaned. She was going to make me prove it and I didn’t know if my ears could stand lowering her to my level, but I sighed, picking up one of the books on the piano at random. I saw it was _Jekyll and Hyde_ and turned to _Take Me As I Am._

We sang, Rose effortlessly handling the small harmonies while I concentrated on nailing the high F sharp. In all honesty, I was worrying so much about my own performance, I wasn’t paying much attention to how we sounded together. But it couldn’t have been too bad, since when I hit the final chord, she turned to me, smiling.

“You see? That wasn’t bad at all. Although...” She placed one finger aside of her mouth as she pursed her lips, then began flipping pages in the songbook. “You’re right about not sounding like a Disney Prince,” she said with a slight giggle. “Your tone is darker, a bit rougher. Which means you need a song that would compliment that aspect. Let’s try this.”

I saw that she’d turned to the other male-female duet in the book, _A Dangerous Game,_ and I’d be singing as Hyde rather than as Jekyll. A completely different tone, and, if she was to be believed, something I might sound better at, despite the range being just as high in certain places. I gave her a chord, as she was to start the song without accompaniment, and watched as she began to sing.

_I feel your fingers, cold on my shoulder, your tempting touch as it runs down my spine.  
Watching your eyes, as they invade my soul, forbidden pleasures I’m afraid to make mine._

Gulp. She’d started out just singing the words, but as she continued I saw her natural stage presence begin to shine forth, and she was becoming the character right in front of me, her body swaying seductively. It didn’t help that she was looking at me the entire time, playing off of my energy as the other half of the duet, her cinnamon eyes flashing, and I couldn’t look away even as my hands moved over the piano keys.

_At the touch of your hand, at the sound of your voice, at the moment your eyes meet mine,  
I am out of my mind, I am out of control, full of feelings I can’t define!_

I closed my eyes for a moment, tiny thrills chasing themselves up and down my back. Her singing always had an effect on me, but this was... something else. Her being so close and interacting with me directly through the song was playing hell with my heart rate. With my eyes shut, I could almost believe... almost... that she believed what she was singing and she meant the words for me.

Realizing she’d finished the last two phrases, it was my turn, I opened my eyes to give breath to the dark character within the staves of music.

_A darker dream that has no ending, that’s so unreal you’ll believe that it’s true.  
A dance of death out of a mystery tale. The frightened princess doesn’t know what to do._

I almost fumbled my fingering. I know I didn’t imagine that little shudder she gave as I rumbled the words _frightened princess._ Could I really be affecting her? A rush of adrenaline hit me at the thought and I pressed onward with more confidence as we alternated the next part.

_Will the ghost go away? Will she will them to stay? Either way, there’s no way to win._

_All I know is I’m lost and I’m counting the cost, my emotions are in a spin._

_I don’t know who to blame, it’s a crime and shame, but it’s true all the same, it’s a dangerous game!_

She held my gaze as we began to sing together and harmonize, our voices ringing off the walls, not clashing as I thought they might. 

_No one speaks, not one word, but what words are in our eyes.  
Silence speaks, loud and clear, all the words we both want to hear._

Her expression was pure heat and that, combined with the feeling of her leg against mine and her small sinuous movements next to me, was beginning to effect me physically. I knew my eyes had probably darkened by then, as they usually did when I felt aroused or angry, my face unable to hide the sheer want I felt, but I was wrapped up in her spell and couldn’t stop. We launched into the last chorus, the chords pounding dramatically out of the piano, my fingers moving unerringly on their own.

_At the touch of your hand, at the sound of your voice, at the moment your eyes meet mine,  
I am losing my mind, I am losing control, fighting feelings I can’t define.  
It’s a sin with no name, no remorse and no shame, fire and fury and flame,  
Cause the devil’s to blame and the angels proclaim--_

My hands paused over the keys as we finished the song _a cappella._

_It’s a dangerous game..._

There were still four more bars of music, but I found myself lost to her eyes and neglected to play them. Without the completion of the song, it was as if the spell we’d woven remained there, binding us together. She was still so close to me, close enough that the smell of vanilla and sugar drifted towards me, and I could have sworn I saw her pulse fluttering at her throat. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and my gaze dropped to them. Everything in my world narrowed to her and me. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to kiss her.

With one hand, I brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, my fingertips just barely grazing her cheek and she shivered.

 _Fear,_ I thought suddenly, and leaned back from her as though burned. I was so stupid! Of course she didn’t want that kind of attention from me... And she had a boyfriend! How could I have forgotten?

“Sorry,” I said, swiveling around on the bench to turn my back to her. I hunched over slightly, to hopefully mask my body’s prominent reaction to her until I could calm myself down. “Got swept up in your performance again.”

She cleared her throat and I felt her rise from the seat, heard her boots clicking on the hardwood floor as she moved away from me. I took deep breaths. _Down, boy._

“No problem,” she said, her voice a little breathy. “I was rather enthralled by yours. I knew you just needed the right song.”

Once I managed to regain some control over my lower regions, I turned to face the room again to see her digging through the tote bag she’d brought. Her face was a bit flushed, probably out of embarrassment.

“We can’t very well sing _Jekyll and Hyde_ for Children in Need, though,” she continued.

“No,” I agreed. There was no need for however many telly viewers and the live audience of children to see how badly I wanted Rose Tyler.

She pulled a slim blue volume out of the bag and returned to me. I recognized the songbook for _Into the Woods._ I had my own copy, somewhere, probably in one of the bookshelves.

“We already decided on _Children Will Listen_ and your brilliant arrangement with _No One Is Alone,_ so one more from the same show won’t make a difference, maybe we’ll have a Sondheim section in the concert.” She opened the book to _Hello, Little Girl_ and I laughed. My voice would definitely fit the bill of the Big Bad Wolf.

We ran through the song, falling back into being just friends, and laughingly howling together at the end of the piece. Even so, my mind kept wanting to stray to thoughts of Rose during the previous song, where her eyes had been dark with desire. Oh, yes. Definitely filed.

When we’d finished, she stood up and leaned against the piano again, looking at me expectantly. “Well? Convinced that we can sing together?”

I tilted my head as though mulling over the idea and she giggled. “All right,” I conceded. “We don’t sound bad. If you want my help with the singing, I’ll gladly pitch in. But only if we find the right songs.”

She grinned and walked around the bench to give me a hug from behind, her fingers splayed across my chest. Her hair swung forward and again, I scented snickerdoodles in the air. “You’re wonderful,” she said and her gratitude washed over me, spreading warmth as it went.

I smiled, relieved that while I could have cocked this up, I managed not to. I reminded myself sternly that I was waiting for her to make a move and hoped my impulse control wouldn’t result in another near-miss.

I patted one of her hands in lieu of hugging her back then glanced at my watch. “Feel like getting some chips before sound check? We have a little time.”

She pulled away, grinning. “Sounds perfect. Mind if I leave my sheet music here? I have a feeling this is going to be our control room for the upcoming concert.”

I chuckled a bit as I stood and crossed the room to retrieve our coats. “Sure, no worries.”

 

The last night of Rose’s concert was incendiary. She performed with passion and fire, her little talks with the audience were witty and personal, and before the last song, she shed a few tears, thanking everyone for bringing to life the dream of a little girl from the estates. I noticed that Wilf was rubbing his eyes before he brought us into _Being Alive._ I was again grateful to know the music, because my own vision had blurred by then. I felt so happy to have been a part of it, to have been able to get to know this amazing woman. My heart thudded joyfully when I thought of the weeks to come. I never thought I’d be content to stay in one place for so long, but suddenly a new horizon without her there seemed like a sad and lonely place. Rose moved through all my boundaries, pulling me with her. I wondered if she would ever know how she’d changed me.

I changed quickly backstage, putting my tux haphazardly on its hanger, knowing I was just going to send it to be cleaned tomorrow anyway. I pulled on my toffee colored overcoat and headed for the stage door to wait for her, intent on confirming our-- date? meeting? cake?-- appointment for tomorrow.

To my surprise, she was already in the backstage area, chatting tiredly with a guy about her age. I’d never seen him before, taking in his smooth, dark brown skin, close cropped black hair, and puffy jacket over jeans. I halted in mid-stride when he suddenly leaned forward and kissed her.

Oh. This had to be Mickey.

“Come on, babe, you deserve it,” he was saying, the buzzing in my ears lifting enough for me to hear their words. “Last show, come to the pub to celebrate.”

“I’m just so tired, you know how I am after I perform,” said Rose. She glanced over then and caught sight of me. I felt guilty for some reason, as if I’d been spying. “John!” I nearly flinched, hearing her call me by my first name rather than our nickname.

Unable to sneak away, I forced my legs to move the last few steps over to them, feeling like I had sacks of flour strapped to my ankles. 

Rose gestured between us as she made introductions. “Mickey, this is John Smith, you know, the one helping me with the charity show. John, this is Mickey.”

The young man stuck out his hand to me and I shifted my garment bag to take it. He shook my hand vigorously. “Heard a lot about you, mate,” he said. “Thanks for helping out my best girl.”

“No, uh... no problem. Glad to help. Great cause.” Maybe if I limited my gob to small sentence fragments, I wouldn’t make a total arse of myself. What could I say to this guy? Hi, nice to meet you, I have strong feelings for your girlfriend that I’m not entirely sure I understand? Somehow I didn’t think that would go over well. I glanced at Rose who looked as uncomfortable as I felt and I awkwardly cleared my throat. “Well... Just going to...” I gestured at the door. “Rose, um... See you tomorrow? For... planning and... stuff?” Good job, mouth. Keep it up. None too elegant, but not embarrassing either. I edged toward the exit. 

“Right, yes,” she said. “See you then. Noonish?”

“Noonish it is. Great job tonight, as always. Can’t wait to do it again.” I blinked at the unwitting double entendre I’d let slip. “Perform, I mean. With you.” Oh, this was deteriorating fast. “On stage. In a show. Brilliant performer, you are. Top banana.” Just shut it! An undignified squeaky sound came from the back of my throat and I lunged for the door. “Good night!”

I practically ran for my car, uselessly hoping I could outrun the ridiculous things I’d said. Once seated in its comforting interior, I banged my head against the steering wheel a few times as if I could knock some sense into my brain. I knew that in my fear of saying the wrong thing, I’d sounded like a bloody idiot and it had been one of those times where I was unable to stop myself. I hated those times, it was like standing outside my own body, willing myself to shut it, and seeing me go on just the same. I sighed. Nothing for it now but to let Rickey think I was an idiot. What a first impression.

Better than the alternative, I suppose, which might have led to him wanting to beat me up. Not that he could. I could totally take him.

Turning the key in the ignition, my car wheezed to life and I headed home. I had cake to bake.


	4. Variation on a Theme by Paganini

The doorbell rang at ten past noon and a deep grin spread across my face as I pictured the blond girl standing on the other side of my door, completely unaware. Rose Tyler had NO idea what she was in for and I couldn’t wait to begin. I’d finally fallen into bed after 3am, having baked and set out the cakes to cool, then woke up five hours later to mix the fillings and frosting and finish up, but the lack of sleep didn’t even touch me. I was far too excited. Even my regular nightmares had been held at bay.

I went to the door and opened it a crack, just enough to reveal half of my face and peep out. Her expression was a mixture of amused and perplexed, just as I hoped. I pulled one of my ties, my blue paisley, out of my pocket and extended it to her through the small opening.

“Put this on,” I said.

She took it from me and looked at it as though it were a great mystery. “Is this one of your neckties?”

“What is usually a tie is actually cleverly masquerading as a blindfold today.”

She laughed. “You’re kidding me, right? You want me to blindfold myself? Is this something weird?”

I gave her my best insulted look. “Weird?” Okay, maybe that sounded more scandalized. But I was genuinely affronted that she would think I was trying to pull something kinky on her. Not on the _first_ date anyway. And this wasn’t _even_ a date.

“I thought we were just having cake.”

I gave her a dark, serious look. _“Just_ having cake? Rose, what I have planned for you is a journey for the senses. And it’s scientifically proven that when you dull one sense, the others become more enhanced. I’m only trying to make sure you fully appreciate the cake.”

She rolled her eyes with a smile and dutifully tied the ‘blindfold’ around her head. I waved a hand in front of her face, then grinned and opened the door fully, taking her by the hands to lead her inside. I took her purse from her shoulder and helped her out of her jacket then walked her in front of me into the kitchen, stopping right inside the doorframe.

From behind her, I placed my hands on either of her shoulders and leaned down to her ear. “Take a deep breath.”

She did, and I watched her nostrils flare slightly with the effort. “Mmm...”

“What do you smell?”

“Cake.”

“Oh, no, no!” I said, moving around her to take her hands once again. “What is currently tickling your olfactory senses, Rose Tyler, is _alchemy..._ in confectionary form.” She giggled as I stopped her by the dining table and helped her into a chair.

What she couldn’t see was that I’d prepared _four_ small cakes. When I aimed to win a bet, I went all out. I moved my chair next to hers and sat down. “Are you ready to try the first one?”

 _“First?_ As in, more than one? Oi, that’s cheating!”

“Uh uh,” I said. “You never said it could only be _one_ cake. I’ve made three for you. What a shame, more cake for you to eat...”

She giggled again. “All right, let’s start.”

I cut a piece of the first and carefully loaded a fork with the right amount of cake, filling, and icing. I held it to her lips. “Open.” She opened her mouth and accepted the bite. I watched as she slowly chewed.

“Mmm,” she moaned. “That’s beautiful... Oh, that icing! It’s so creamy! Is... is this pumpkin?”

I grinned, happy that she was obviously enjoying the morsel as she licked her lips for any remaining crumbs. “Yellow cake with sweet pumpkin filling and whipped cream icing. All from scratch, mind you, no box recipes here.”

“I can tell, the texture alone is amazing. You weren’t kidding when you said you could bake!” She clapped her hands a bit. “Bravo! I approve of number one. Should I drink some water or milk in between cakes?”

“No, actually, the flavors of all three are designed to mingle well. Ready for the next?”

“I really want a bit more of the first, but I’m too curious now!” We chuckled a bit as I readied the next bite for her.

“Ooh, cherry,” she said around her second bite of cake. “Icing’s a bit thicker, bit richer. Overall, it’s a simpler taste, but still delicious. What is it?”

“Standard white cake with real cherry filling and cream cheese icing.”

“I think I like this one even better...”

“Next one’s a bit more complex. Ready?”

She held up one finger as she finished savouring cake number two before opening her mouth for the third bite. “Spicy!” she said as she closed her lips around it, clearly surprised.

“It’s spice cake!”

“Well, that makes sense, I guess. With... apple cinnamon?”

I nodded, though she couldn’t see it. “Apple filling with cinnamon and brown sugar, plus white frosting with a bit of maple thrown in.”

“It’s so good, it’s almost like coffee cake, but so much lighter. And I don’t know what kind of spices you used, but it’s incredible! Savoury and sweet at the same time.” She paused, finishing her mouthful. “I can’t decide which I like best!”

I couldn’t suppress my smug grin. “Then I take it I won the bet?”

She gave an over-dramatic exasperated sigh. “Yes, I suppose you do. I guess I shouldn’t doubt you when you say you can do something.”

“Yes, fatal mistake on your part. Didn’t you know? I’m _brilliant.”_ We laughed. “Would you finally like to see the cakes you’ve been eating?”

She tugged off the blindfold and looked at the spread on the table. The yellow cake with the brown filling and white frosting, the white with the red cherries and cream colored frosting, and the spice cake with the apples and slightly tan frosting. Her brow furrowed and she looked at me suspiciously.

“What?” I asked.

“John Smith,” she said, sternly. “Did you make me a cherpumple?”

“What? No! Of course not!” I blustered. “A cherpumple is made with store bought cake mix and frosting, not to mention each layer has a fully cooked store bought pie in the middle and _obviously_ , my _completely superior_ cakes have filling, rather than a pie, _aaaand_ my cakes are separate and not layered on top of one another, so _clearly,_ this _cannot_ be a cherpumple. Top marks, though, for spotting the similarities, brilliant, you are...”

She finally burst out laughing and I felt my face redden. I wasn’t going to be talking my way through this one, Rose was already on to my tricks. She crossed her arms and shook her head at me. “I don’t know if I can let you win the bet now,” she said.

“Oi, this was about baking, not about originality. You admitted my cakes are better than store bought, so these are totally better than any cherpumple out there. And you already conceded defeat!” A sound argument, I felt.

“Are you really going to tell me ‘no take backs?’”

“No.” Oh, she knew just how to make me feel juvenile.

She grinned, showing that bit of tongue. “You’re adorable when you pout.”

“I’m not pouting! I do not pout!” I didn’t. ...I don’t think. I sucked my lower lip into my mouth for good measure, but I’m not sure that did anything for my expression.

“Uh huh,” she said, giggling, not convinced at all. “All right, then, winner-by-a-pout. You’ve won. What do you want as your prize?”

I’d had time to think about it by now and knew what I wanted. “A bottle of whatever soap you use in the shower.”

Her face went pink. “What?”

“I am dying to know how you always manage to smell like biscuits!” I said. “Whenever you hug me it’s all vanilla and sugar and then I get mad cravings and have to run to the shop that sells my favorite jammie dodgers. It’s like a Pavlovian response!”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “And here I thought you were being creepy!”

I blinked, flustered. “What? No!” I truly hadn’t thought my request would come off that way, but thinking about it, perhaps it _should_ have occurred to me. Girls were often quite particular about their bath products. “It’s not as if I was asking for your _personal_ bottle, I want a brand new one. As well as the name of the shop you get it at.”

She caught her breath, the giggles subsiding. “Okay, okay, no problem. Though I will warn you that for at least the first week, it will make you constantly hungry.”

“I don’t think that will be any different for me.” She began to laugh again and I held up my hands. “No, seriously! If you ever need to know where I am in a crowded place, check the food table. It’s the only reason I ever go to parties, I love the nibbles.” I grinned. I loved making her laugh. Ever since that first night, I knew I’d never be able to get enough.

“Hang on,” she said as the laughter died down. She tilted her head, then reached around the three cakes to move the fruit bowl in the center of the table to the side, revealing my last and dark chocolate frosted cake. “A fourth one? What’s this one for, then?”

“Ah, _this,”_ I said, pulling the confection toward me. “Is _my_ cake. Invented especially for me. And it is the very best cake in the entire universe. And you can _only_ have some if you’ve been very good, it’s the rule.”

She lifted her eyebrows, though whether she was skeptical or impressed I wasn’t sure. “The rule? Must be good cake.”

“There are no words to describe how good, Rose.” My serious demeanor must have convinced her because she looked at the cake, and then back at me, biting her lower lip.

“How do you know if you’ve been very good?”

“Well, _I_ stayed up most of the night and got up very early to make four absolutely delicious cakes for my good mate, Rose Tyler, so I know _I’ve_ been good.” I waggled my eyebrows at her, earning a little giggle. “And you?”

She pursed her lips as she thought about it. “I helped my mum do laundry this morning.” She scrunched up her face adorably. “Well... I put everything in the laundry bag for her and took my performance gowns to the cleaners on the way here. Does that count?”

I held up my thumb and first finger, just touching. “I’ll allow it.”

She gave me one of those smiles with her tongue showing. My stomach flipped over and I knew I would have given her the cake even if she hadn’t been good. My brain automatically began thinking up scenarios with Rose showing exactly how _bad_ she could be and I shook my head to clear it. Now was _not_ the time.

I cut us each a large slice and handed her a fork. With a huge effort, I waited to eat my own, I wanted to see her reaction. She looked closely at the decorations sticking to the top and sides in the frosting.

“What are these... _nonpareils?”_

“You’re thinking of the smaller, colored bits. More widely known as far as confectionary decorations go, commonly called ‘hundreds and thousands,’ and very good on donuts.” I was excited to fill her in on the treat she was about to partake in. “These are _dragées,_ but I utterly hate that word, it’s rubbish for describing this marvelous bit of food engineering. I much prefer ‘edible ball bearings.’”

She giggled. “All right, then, why are there edible ball bearings on your cake?”

“A better question would be, why aren’t there _more?_ Honestly, Rose, I held myself back, decorating this cake. Ball bearings you can eat? How brilliant is that? Plus, it gives the cake a bit of crunch, a bit of fun while you’re eating it.” She looked utterly amused at me, shaking with poorly concealed giggles, which should have annoyed me, I mean, really, who can’t appreciate edible ball bearings? But I couldn’t bring myself to not share in her laughter.

She scooped up a load onto her fork and looked at the yellow color of the sponge. “Is it yellow cake again?”

A knowing smile crossed my features. “Taste it.”

I watched as she slowly encased laden fork with her mouth. Before she even dragged the cake free of the utensil, her eyes rolled back then closed. _“Mmmm...”_ she moaned deeply. “It’s banana!” I grinned as she talked around her mouthful. “It’s so light and sweet, the dark chocolate almost overpowers it, but the aroma, the flavour is still there...”

“Aaaand...?” I prompted, drawing the word out.

Her eyes went wide open. _“Nutella?”_

I chuckled. “Bang on.” She took another bite, vocally appreciating the flavors all over again. “You see, when you use banana as a filling in a cake, they tend to get all slimy, and that is something a banana should just never be. So, I make the cake banana flavoured using real bananas pureed down very fine so there aren’t any slimy chunks, then use Nutella as a filling and frost it with the chocolate. It’s the best of everything.”

“Brilliant,” she said, around another mouthful and I wasn’t quite sure if she’d been paying attention to my amazing cake baking information. I could hardly blame her, this cake tended to have that effect on people. She was moaning again, something I was becoming worryingly used to, already thinking I’d make that cake every time she visited, if I got to listen to noises like that. “Mmm...” She took the plate from the table and turned her back to me. “You’re gonna have to excuse me, I’m gonna need a minute with this cake.” I could see her take another bite and she shivered as she moaned her pleasure.

I laughed softly, finally taking a bite of my own slice. I closed my eyes for a moment as the flavours mixed on my tongue, remembering, as I always did, the first time I’d had it. My heart thudded painfully, but... as I looked to the girl at my side, so obviously enjoying her dessert, the throb was somehow not as bad as it usually was. I knew the original chef would have loved to see someone else enjoying her invention.

Rose turned back to the table, placing her empty plate beside my still half-full one. She sat back in her seat, a dreamy expression on her face. “You have... hands down... won the bet,” she said.

I smiled around my mouthful of cake. “Thank you.”

“No, thank _you._ That cake is enough to make the pope want a cigarette! Where did you learn to make cake this good? Don’t tell me you’ve taken courses at Le Cordon Bleu or something.”

“Uh, no...” I said, rubbing the back of my neck a bit. “Actually... my mum taught me.”

Her eyes lit up as she smiled. “Really? Does she live here in London? I should thank her.”

I glanced away, setting down my fork and brushing at crumbs on the table. “She did. Before she died.”

Her face fell. “Oh, Doctor, I’m sorry...” She placed her hand gently over mine and I turned it over to lace our fingers. She didn’t pull away and it just... felt right. My heart fluttered at the sound of her using our nickname again. I’d thought, after the whole ‘meeting Mickey’ incident, that she hadn’t wanted to be overly familiar with me anymore. The reality that she didn’t want him to know about it or share in it made me feel oddly smug. I had something with Rose that he didn’t.

Her fingers tightened on mine just slightly. “You were obviously close.” She glanced at my half-eaten slice of cake and she covered her mouth with her free hand. “Oh God, your mum was the one who created that cake for you, wasn’t she? And I acted all-- Doctor, I am _so_ sorry, I didn’t mean it as disrespect, honest--”

I shook my head and cut her off. “It’s all right, you didn’t know. I’m happy you liked it so much... She would have--” I swallowed, it was getting harder to keep my voice steady. “I think she would have liked you. She taught me a lot. Gave me my first music lessons on an old, slightly out of tune, stand-up piano. She taught me to cook as soon as I was tall enough to reach the upper cabinets. She made me appreciate good food because she knew I’d leave one day and she wanted to make sure I would eat right.”

“You knew even then you wanted to travel?”

“Maybe not exactly, but I always had a fascination for other cultures and places. She knew that London wasn’t big enough to hold me.” I smiled, sadly. “Mum always knew me better than I did.” I paused, looking at our joined hands. My voice had gone softer as the confession trickled out. “It still hurts. Not like it did, but the pain is still... there. It’s why I first started traveling. Tried to run so far and so fast that I wouldn’t feel it.”

Suddenly, she was standing up and her arms were around me. One of her hands cradled my head, holding me against her chest near her clavicle. After the initial moment of shock, I wrapped my arms around her waist, holding her equally close and my eyes squeezed shut. My instincts told me to set her away, not to allow her to see me in a weak moment, but she was warm and soft and right _there,_ the temptation of her comfort was too great for me to resist. I’d never let anyone see me grieve. Never accepted any offers of sympathy. But somehow, with Rose, it felt all right.

Even so, I wasn’t going to cry. I had _some_ dignity. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry,” I managed to choke out, my voice uncomfortably tight. “I never talk about this...”

“It’s all right,” she said, softly. “I never talk about my dad, either.”

I pulled back a little to look up at her. “You lost your dad?”

She nodded, sadness in her eyes. “I was just a baby. Never got to know him, except through my mum’s stories.” Her brows drew together, forming a tiny line in-between. “When you talked about her... It just felt like my heart was being crushed. It’s the same feeling I get whenever I miss dad. And I just couldn’t...” She shook her head. “I didn’t want you to feel alone.”

I drew her back into my arms and her embrace tightened. How did she know that even surrounded by people, I always felt alone? My heart swelled with gratitude for this amazing, brilliant girl. “I’m not alone now,” I said, slightly muffled against her jumper.

“That’s right,” she agreed. “You have me.” She leaned down a bit and I felt her place a soft kiss against the top of my head.

I knew then.

Pulling back, I stood from my chair and took her hand again. “I want to share something with you.”

We went back into the living area, hand in hand. I sat down at the piano and she sat next to me. I stared at the keys for a moment.

“My mother,” I began, “loved this song. She would listen to it whenever she felt lonely for my father. I never knew my dad either, he died on Bloody Friday in Belfast when I was only a couple years old. And this song is the reason why I asked to learn how to play... So that I could perform it for her.” I looked at Rose whose eyes were liquid with emotion. “I never play this piece for anyone anymore. But... I think you’d like it. And I wanted you to know what it means.”

She nodded, squeezing my hand once before I released her to stretch my fingers over the keys. I closed my eyes and gave the notes life.

The song was by Rachmaninoff, called _Variation on a theme by Paganini._ I’d always thought it was an odd title, was the song really by the former or the latter, the man who wrote the original, or the man who wrote the arrangement I currently played? In the end, it didn’t matter, just one of those random pieces of information that endless twirled in my brain, it was the music that mattered.

This piece was always heartbreakingly beautiful, not only for the emotion the sheer sound invoked, but because of the personal emotions behind it. I could see my mother, sitting in her favorite chair, holding a picture of my father in his uniform, tears rolling down her face as the song tinkled out from the record player. Now, in my mind’s eye, I could see those same tears on Rose’s face, as a little girl, listening to her mother tell her all about the father she would never know.

I wanted to tell her that I knew, I knew how much it hurt. Like your heart was trapped in a vice and you couldn’t breathe and you felt this gaping hole in your innermost being that couldn’t ever be filled. Instead, I told her with music, I poured out my soul for her on waves of sound, I showed her what I revealed to no one, I laid my heart at her feet. _This is me,_ I said silently. _And this is you. This is us._

As I struck the final notes, I heard a sniffle and opened my eyes to look at her. Tears had streamed down her face, carrying her mascara with it, and as I watched, she blinked and they spilled over again. I reached up and cradled her head in my hands, gently wiping away the tears with my thumbs. Her hands slowly crept up my shirt, then rested lightly on my chest.

“Doctor,” she whispered, but seemed unable to finish what she wanted to say.

I searched her eyes before my gaze dropped to her mouth. I looked back up, but she made no effort to pull away. And then she made a tiny move _forward..._ Slowly, very slowly, I leaned toward her...

A loud ringtone filled the air and we snapped back from each other. Awkwardly, we both moved away from the piano bench, me to the windows nearby, Rose to the door where I’d left her purse. She fished her mobile out from its depths and put it to her ear.

“Hey, Micks...”

Rickey. I didn’t know whether I wanted to kill him or kiss him for stopping me. I was leaning toward kill as I felt my face heat up, thinking about what had almost happened.

“Yeah, um... I don’t know... Hold on.” She held the phone to her chest and turned to me. “Did you want to, uh... go over music today?”

I realized we still hadn’t gotten to work on the concert today, Rose’s real reason for being here at my flat. I shoved my hands in my pockets, avoiding her gaze. “Actually, there’s some... stuff... I could do. If you need to go.” A horrible lie, but it gave her an out. I could only imagine how awkward things might be if she stayed. “We can work tomorrow. I promise leftover cake.”

She nodded. “All right. Tomorrow then.” She put the phone back to her ear. “Yeah, I can be there in twenty minutes... Okay, bye.” She rang off and put the mobile back in her purse, then reached for her jacket on the peg next to my coat.

I slowly went to the door to see her off, hoping that I wasn’t still blushing from the almost-kiss. “Thanks for coming over,” I said, as lightly as possible. “Don’t forget you owe me a bottle of soap.”

“Thanks for... everything,” she said, her voice soft. I looked at her then and swallowed hard, staggered by the sincerity in her eyes. “I mean it, Doctor. What you shared with me... Well, it means a lot.” She hesitated for a second, then closed the distance between us and embraced me, wrapping her arms around my neck. My hands left my pockets and found the small of her back. I laid my cheek against her hair, closing my eyes against the sweet scent of her. “If you ever, _ever,_ need to talk. Call. Promise?”

“I promise. You, too.”

She nodded, the movement nuzzling my chest and I knew she could probably feel my heart beating a staccato in quadruple time. She stepped back and touched my cheek, her fingers soft and warm, giving me a sad smile, before she turned to the door and left the flat. “See you tomorrow,” drifted back as I closed the door after her.

I leaned my back against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I rested my forehead against them and closed my eyes. I needed to wrap up the cake in the kitchen before it started to dry out, not to mention get started on the sink full of dirty dishes, but I couldn’t be bothered to get up. I don’t know how long I sat there, thoughts of Rose spinning through my head.

I sighed, because I knew. I was hopelessly, completely, irrevocably, arse-over-elbow-over-teakettle in love with Rose Tyler.


	5. Interlude

I loved morning runs when I was stuck in one place for a while. The sensation of the wind in my hair, as cliche as that sounded, felt amazing. The solid thwack of the pavement against my trainers was a rhythm perfectly complimented by the music I had in my ipod-bluetooth-radio earpiece. (I had tinkered with the original devices a bit, but I felt no guilt about Frankensteining my tech together. It was bloody handy to have all three devices in one.)

Stopping at my mailbox, I pulled my keys out of the pocket of my sweats and retrieved the stack of letters and adverts addressed to me. Donna normally picked up my mail whenever I was out of town, so something as mundane as getting it myself really made me feel at home. I flipped through the envelopes, tossing the junk in a nearby bin, when I spotted one from the New London Theater and some spark of memory tickled the back of my brain. I tried coaxing it to the forefront, but couldn’t remember what was so important about that particular theater.

I opened it, expecting some kind of advert. What I found instead were two tickets for that Friday night, but even more surprising was the title of the show: _One Night With John Smith._ I yanked the accompanying tri-folded paper from the envelope and scanned the missive.

_Mr. Smith... looking forward to your performance... your two comp tickets... seats totally sold out... blah, blah, blah..._

Shoving everything back inside the envelope, I pressed the button on the side of my earpiece to switch over from music to mobile. “Call Donna,” I said, tersely. I heard the responding beep and then tinny ringing as the device connected me to my agent.

“Hey, John,” came the crackly voice over her shite mobile, after three rings.

“Hello, Donna. Erm...” I paused, awkwardly, not really knowing how to ask without sounding like an idiot. “Am I doing a show at the New London this Friday?” I finally said, figuring asking directly would hopefully not make her as annoyed at me.

She sighed. Fantastic. She only sighed like that when I’d forgotten something important. “We talked about this.”

“I don’t remember talking about this.”

“We _definitely_ talked about this!” The rise in volume meant I should stuff the arguing, which I did, wisely. “They wanted you to do a solo night in this year’s schedule and you agreed to it, provided you didn’t have to let them know what the material was!”

I winced. I supposed that was why I hadn’t gotten any reminders about dropping off music or anything of that nature. “...When was this?”

“Months ago! It was still last year!”

And it was almost April now. Another wince. “Just so I’m clear... I’ve had months to plan a solo night at the New London, I forgot in typical me fashion, and now I have roughly three and a half days to plan this out and be amazing.”

“Got it in one, Spaceman,” she said, using the nickname she called me whenever I spectacularly forgot something. Honestly, at times like these, I had to wonder whether or not my brain truly was out in space.

“I’ll come up with something. I always do.”

“You’d better,” she said and rang off.

I sighed. Well, it could have been worse. I could have committed to a program I hadn’t rehearsed at all, instead I could just make it up as I went along. Some of my best work has been entirely improvised. I could only hope that my luck in that regard wouldn’t abandon me now.

Turning, I headed into my building. I could at least page through my music, see if anything jumped out at me, maybe come up with an outline. There was still time before Rose would probably show up, I could dedicate my mornings to work on this show until Friday... I stopped in my tracks a few steps from my door, my thoughts grinding to a halt.

Rose was sitting on the floor with her legs stretched out in front of her, leaning against the door to my flat. She had a cone of newsprint in her hand and she was eating chips out of it. Two crumpled balls of newsprint lay next to her, as well as a white plastic bag holding what I thought looked like a styrofoam container. Her hair was pulled into a messy half-bun on top of her head, her face was clean of any cosmetics. She was wearing a gray over-sized hoodie over a white top with a long ankle length skirt that might have once been black and equally old blue trainers with slouchy socks. And while I always found her to be attractive, her overall appearance today was, for lack of a better word, frumpy. It was shocking to me, having never seen her look this way before. I took off my sunglasses and checked my watch. It was barely eight in the morning.

“Rose?” I asked, my voice climbing in disbelief at the end of her name. “What are you doing here? I mean, now. I wasn’t expecting you for hours.” I glanced down at my old sweats that had seen more than a few morning runs. I knew I needed a shower and fought to keep my embarrassment down. ‘Slumming it’ was one thing, this was another.

She turned her head and there was something in her eyes, an emotion I couldn’t quite place, but I could tell somehow that, whatever it was, it wasn’t directed at me. She gestured at the garbage, stained dark from vinegar. “I got us both chips... Ended up eating yours, too. So, I went back and got more.” She pointed at the takeaway bag then looked up at me. “Not too early for chips, is it? I just... I wanted them.”

I was impressed that she knew of a chippie that was open so early in the morning. I could also tell something was up, but all I did was go to her and hold out my hand to help her up. Then I unlocked the door to my flat as she picked up her purse and the other items off the floor. I went inside and dropped my keys, mail, and earpiece on the coffee table as she shut the door behind us. My hand automatically ran through my hair to the back of my neck as it usually did whenever I was unsure about something.

Rose plunked herself down on my sofa and began eating the chips from the newsprint cone in a manner I could only describe as aggressive.

“Erm...” I said for the second time today, once again feeling like I was missing something. “I’m going to take a guess here and say something’s wrong?”

She snorted. “Good guess.”

She didn’t elaborate further. With a frown, I took the styrofoam container out of the bag and went into the kitchen. I turned the oven to two hundred and dumped the chips onto a baking sheet, sticking them inside the still-heating device. I went back out to the sitting room. Rose hadn’t moved.

“I’m going to take a shower. Talk when I come out?”

She nodded. Still feeling decidedly awkward, I retreated to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I stood there for a moment, utterly bewildered. Rose was upset, that was crystal clear, but it couldn’t be with me or she wouldn’t be here. Or maybe she would, but I don’t think she would have brought me chips and agreed to talk so readily were that the case. That meant something or someone else had raised her ire and she had come to me for help or comfort.

It made me feel slightly giddy, that she trusted me so much. My brain instantly began sending pictures to the fore of me hugging and cuddling her. _If she wants comfort, right?_ said that sneaky little part of me. I tamped that voice down with another that said I was little more than one of her girlfriends that she’d come to, to talk with. Maybe she came here because she needed sweets and she knew I still had cake. Because girls always wanted sweets when they were upset, yeah?

A soft knock on the bedroom door startled me out of my thoughts and I turned to open it. Rose held out a large yellow plastic bottle to me.

“I almost forgot,” she said, handing it over, before heading back into the sitting room.

I looked at the label. _Vanilla and Brown Sugar Body Wash._ The absurdity made me want to laugh. Rose Tyler, in my flat while I showered, and she’d just given me a bottle of her soap. With resolve, I pushed away that bad part of myself that wanted to fantasize about her joining me under the warm spray and went to the ensuite, shaking my head. This was turning out to be a very interesting morning.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in jeans and an old Beatles shirt, I padded barefoot back into the living area, smelling of biscuits and rubbing a towel on my damp hair. I’d forgone my usual shave in the interest of time management, but I didn’t think Rose would mind my bit of scruff. She had apparently retrieved the chips from the oven and put them back in the container and was eating them, but slower now. No wonder, if this was her fourth helping, but I wasn’t going to say anything.

I sat down and grabbed a few chips for myself, chewing thoughtfully as I took in her slouched posture, her stocking feet since she’d kicked off her chucks, and her crossed arms. “All right,” I said. “What happened?”

“Mickey is a five star pillock.”

Yep. I was her girlfriend. Brilliant. Mentally, I sighed and wondered if I had any ice cream in the freezer. I might not have a great track record when it came to relationships because of my travel habits, but I had a basic understanding of how girls typically worked. Besides, I cared about Rose. If this was what she needed from me, then... so be it. I could be there for her. I could have another small part of her that Mickey couldn’t have.

“Hold on,” I said, wanting to do this right. I got up and threw my damp towel into my bedroom to be picked up later. I went into the half-bath off the sitting room and retrieved a toilet roll, then picked up her purse from the floor by the door.

“What--?” she began, but I held up my hand, stalling any questions.

Sitting back down, I started digging through her purse. Normally, I would ask before going through a lady’s personal effects, not that I did it a lot, but a purse was practically sacred, from what I understood. However, if she trusted me this far, I wagered I had carte blanche at this point. I was not disappointed by my logic, as she sat back and waited for me to find what I was looking for without protest. Toward the bottom, I had it. A small bottle of nail polish. Light pink, the same color as that hoodie she’d had on the first time I’d seen her. I set her purse on the coffee table and angled myself so my back was against the arm of the sofa, one of my legs lying across the cushion, bent at the knee.

“Give me your feet,” I said, gesturing with my free hand.

“What?” she said, half laughing.

“Your feet. Put them up here.” I patted my lap.

Very reluctantly, she turned so she was mirroring my position and lifted her feet to lay them where I’d directed. The motion caused her skirt to budge up a bit, almost to the knee, but the whole thing was still puritanical in the extreme. I tugged off her socks and tossed them near her shoes.

“They probably smell,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“The only thing I can smell right now is biscuits, thank you very much, by the way.” I began rubbing her left foot, working my thumbs gently into the arches and was rewarded by a soft, happy noise from her throat.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said, but it was a half-hearted protest.

“Yes, I do,” I insisted. “You’re female, your bloke is a pillock, and you’re my mate. This is what I have to do. Now, tell me what happened.”

She sighed, dropping her head back onto the arm of the sofa. “I left early yesterday because Mickey called. He complained I’d been busy and he wanted to go out.”

I nodded, focusing my gaze on her feet as I massaged them. “I remember.”

“Okay, well... I went home and changed into something nice, a little flirty. I felt bad about him feeling neglected, so I made a bit of an effort, you know?”

“You are a good girlfriend,” I said, saying what I would have if it were me she’d been dressing up for.

She sighed again, more exasperated this time. “I asked him if I looked all right. I wasn’t really fishing, I just wanted to hear that it was fine. That he acknowledged I’d done it for him. And do you know what he said?” Switching to her right foot, I didn’t say anything, which was just as well, she continued straight on. “He said ‘You might want to try a different top.’ That wanker... As if he knows anything about how to dress. But I thought maybe he was just still upset with me, so I played nice. I went and picked up a different top and asked him ‘How about this?’ And the git complained about that one, too.” She lifted her head up and looked down at her hands in her lap, picking at her cuticles. “Honestly, I don’t know why I even try. If he can’t appreciate what I do for him, why do I bother?”

I had a feeling that this domestic had everything to do with Rose’s look today. Normally, this sort of thing would have sent me screaming (metaphorically) in the opposite direction, but I wouldn’t do that to her. And it actually felt nice that she came to me to talk about it. She trusted me, just as I trusted her. “Did you tell him he hurt your feelings?” I asked, moving up to massage her calves, enjoying the feeling of her smooth, toned legs beneath my fingers.

“Of course.”

“Then he apologized.”

“No. He told me I was being oversensitive.”

 _“What?”_ As far as I was concerned, Rickey was the idiot now, sod how I’d acted the night I met him. He’d broken two cardinal rules. Never tell a woman she looks anything less than beautiful and always, ALWAYS, apologize if/when you hurt her feelings.

“I told you. Five star pillock.” She grabbed a handful of chips and ate a few, holding the rest out to poke into my mouth, since my hands were busy.

“Can I say something?” I asked, once I’d swallowed my mouthful. She nodded. “He doesn’t deserve you.” She laughed shortly, but I went on. “I mean it. Rose, I know to us blokes that what you wear might not seem that important, but he should have known it was important to you, no matter what his feelings on the subject.” I paused. “I know you don’t want to hear it from me... but I’m sure whatever you picked out looked great.”

She looked up and gave me a small smile. “Thanks.”

I took the toilet roll and began tearing off pieces that I squished into small balls and tucked them between her toes, spreading them out. Then I opened the small bottle of polish and carefully began to concentrate on painting the tiny nails at the ends of her toes. I wished I hadn’t left my specs in the loo, but I could manage. “I’m curious about something,” I said as I worked. “Of course I enjoy having you here and I’m happy to listen, but... why come to me about this? Surely, your mum would have been better.”

She snorted, crossing her arms. “I _did_ go to mum. She had the nerve to take his side! Saying I wasn’t being fair on Mickey since I’d been spending all my time with you. Never mind that I’d dropped everything yesterday when he called...”

Her comments made me pause. Did that mean her boyfriend was jealous of me, of the time I spent with Rose? Part of me felt rather smug at the thought. Of course, most of our time together was work related, but... well, not all of it was _strictly_ work. We’d decided that first day at the chippie that we would be friends. (Never mind my personal feelings on the subject, we were mates and I intended to live up to that title.)

She kept talking, unaware of my inner monologue. “...I ended up telling them both to sod off and went to bed, though I barely slept at all last night, which is why I got here so early. I suppose I could have talked to one of the girls about this, but all of my other friends know Mickey, and I really didn’t want to hear someone else tell me I was wrong for reacting the way I did.”

I shook my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Even if you don’t _mean_ to hurt someone’s feelings, if you _do,_ you apologize. Simple as that.”

She grinned at me, uncrossing her arms. “Exactly! See, that’s why I came here. I knew you’d understand.”

I smiled up at her before returning my gaze to her toes. I was glad I could help her feel better. Someone as lovely as Rose should never feel unattractive or unappreciated. And if I had to paint her toenails a hundred times so she would feel beautiful, then I would.

“I’m really sorry,” she said then, her voice soft. I stopped what I was doing and looked up at her. “You’re being so nice and wonderful right now and I’m completely taking advantage of it. I know you can’t possibly want to be sitting here listening to me whinge. I just... I needed to talk and I didn’t want to be judged. For anything.”

I capped the polish so I could give her my full attention without the brush dripping pink everywhere. “Don’t apologize. Honestly, I’m honoured that you trust me so much. We’re mates, so you’re not taking advantage, this is what mates do. We listen, we offer support, we get you what you need; whether that’s chips, ice cream, movies, pizza, or pink painted toes.”

She giggled. “Can we really do all that?”

“We’re on our way to two out of the five already,” I said as I unscrewed the lid of the polish again and moved onto her other foot. “Dig your mobile out of your purse and order us a pizza or two. Then, when your toes are dry, we can take a look through my DVD collection. No work today.” Rose was more than worth that, I’d work on my concert tomorrow morning.

She gave me a tongue teasing smile as she leaned forward and grabbed her purse from the coffee table and began rifling through it. “Do you still have the wine I turned down yesterday?”

“Yep,” I said, popping the ‘p.’

“We’re gonna need it.”

 

We asked for the pizza to come around noon; pepperoni, mushrooms, and black olives for her, pineapple and bacon for me. We were already one bottle in by the time it arrived. I had quite a collection of movies, since everything I picked up in my travels eventually ended up here. I insisted that we watch nothing romantic which she heartily agreed to, so we chose a bunch of horror flicks we could make fun of, rounded out with some of the more bizarre Bollywood movies for good measure.

Once we’d had our fill of pizza, another wine bottle was gone, and two movies down, Rose was on her mobile with her mum. I went to the kitchen to put away the leftovers and fetch another bottle, but I had no trouble hearing her as she didn’t bother to keep her voice down.

“I’m not comin’ home tonight, mum,” she said, defiance hard in her tone as was the accent she normally concealed. “Because m’still cross, that’s why... I don’t care what Mickey says, he can sod the fuck off. M’stayin’ at a mate’s, be home tomorrow.”

She rang off and I couldn’t hide a grin at her language as I came back into the sitting area with the new bottle I’d just uncorked.

“What?” she asked.

“Rose Tyler said _fuck._ I’m utterly shocked!”

She lightly smacked me in the arm as I sat back down, chuckling. “Shut it,” she said. “S’that okay? If I stay here?”

Her hazel eyes were so big and she looked so young without all the makeup she normally wore. “Of course it is. I’ll take the sofa. No arguments,” I added when she opened her mouth.

She sat back against the cushions as I poured her another glass. “We’re startin’ to know each other too well,” she said. “You’re predictin’ me all ready.”

“Nah,” I said. “I just know you’re far too selfless not to argue about stealing my bed.”

She took the glass from me and sipped at the red liquid. “How much do we have left?”

I held up the bottle. “This is my last one. I think we may need to talk a walk to the corner for more provisions after this movie.”

“Ice cream?”

“Loads of ice cream. And lots more wine.”

“Could do with somethin’ harder.”

I ignored the obvious place I could have taken that and shook my head. “Nope. Started on wine, have to stick with it.” She gave me a confused look and I raised an eyebrow at her. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you the saying ‘Liquor to wine, you’re feeling fine. Wine to liquor, you’ve never been sicker’?”

She looked sheepish. “That explains a lot.”

I covered my eyes with one hand. “Tell me you’ve at least had chocolate wine before?”

Her eyes widened. That did it. I set down my glass and got up, heading for my bedroom for my trainers. “Come on, get your shoes, we’re going to the corner market right now. There are some serious gaps in your drinking experience and we’re going to rectify that tonight.”

 

The first thing I noticed was the slight pain in my head, which was probably the reason I was slowly creeping toward wakefulness, since the rest of me was warm and quite comfortable and was perfectly content to go back to sleep. My head had other ideas, the light pounding at my temples becoming more insistent. I wondered what time it was, because I felt like I’d slept longer than I had in ages, which only happened on the rare occasion when I didn’t have nightmares waking me up. I took a deep breath... _Mmm... Biscuits..._ I should thank Rose again for my new bottle of soap.

A soft moan in a voice distinctly not my own shattered my thought processes. Arms tightened around me and the warmth I felt shifted a bit, alerting me to someone else’s presence in what was probably my bed. Easing my eyes open, I sucked in a sharp breath at the sight before me.

Definitely my bed and my bedroom, though the blinds were drawn and the area was dim. And Rose Tyler was cuddled against my chest, her arms around my waist, her legs tangled with mine, and _my_ arms were around _her._ More than that, I was wearing only my pants.

_Fuck!_

This was not good, this was very not good, in fact it was bad, a whole house of bad plus two extra suitcases full of bad. It was definitely not the time to be admiring her messy hair spread across the pillow or the way her face looked so relaxed in sleep. I should have been trying to think of a way of getting out of bed that wouldn’t wake her, but my brain didn’t seem to be able to come up with anything, between my headache and the warmth and the _smell_ of her surrounding me.

I put my head back on my pillow, to wait for her to wake up. I knew I’d be in for it once she did and was loathe to have to give this up. My head was extremely foggy. I tried to think through the clouds of last night... Just how much wine did we _have?_ I remembered bringing home a ridiculous amount of wine and ice cream... Movies... Popcorn... Snuggling on the sofa... and much too much drink. It got hazy after that... There were a few scattered images of naked skin, heat, and sweat, but no details. For fuck’s sake, did I shag Rose Tyler, only to remember nothing about it?! I couldn’t even remember _kissing_ her! This was utterly cruel.

Looking down at the angel sleeping in my arms, my guilt multiplied. She came here wanting a friend and what did I do? I took advantage of her! And Rose, poor Rose, she would feel so guilty for doing this to Mickey, even if it wasn’t... Well, to be honest, I couldn’t say whose fault it was, since I couldn’t remember any damning details.

Curiously, I lifted my arm a bit to peek under the sheet and saw that she appeared to be wearing one of my Oxfords... _only_ my Oxford. And not buttoned very well either, as the swell of one breast teased at the gap of the shirt. I put my arm back down. I had no right to be ogling her while she slept.

She made another soft noise and shifted again, her hip brushing against me intimately and instantly, my groin began to tighten. _No, no, no!_ I couldn’t have her wake up to me like that! Of course, my lower half wouldn’t listen to me and went on its merry way, pressing against the softness of her upper thigh and I bit back a groan, then a whimper as she took a deep breath and stretched, cat-like, against me, rubbing those unbelievably gorgeous breasts along my chest.

My cowardice kicked in and I closed my eyes, feigning sleep. She couldn’t blame me for having an erection before waking up, that was normal for blokes. Oh, I was a bad, bad man.

She made a few more beautiful sounds and for a moment, I thought she would roll over and go back to sleep, but I knew the instant she awoke. I heard her gasp and her whole body stiffened. She withdrew her legs from mine and shook my shoulder.

“Doctor!” she said, her voice laced with urgency. “Doctor, wake up!”

I opened my eyes again and instantly we pulled back from one another. We stayed there, propped up on our elbows, and staring at each other as though we were hoping the other would disappear and this would only be a dream. No such luck, of course.

I licked my dry lips. “Rose...” I started, tentatively. “Did we have sex last night?”

There was confusion in her eyes, I could practically hear the gears turning as she attempted to think back, but I figured if _I_ was having trouble, then she _definitely_ wouldn’t remember as she had a lower muscle mass than I did and therefore couldn’t metabolize the alcohol quite as well.

“I don’t remember.”

Running a hand through my hair, I sighed. “Neither do I.”

She seemed to realize what she was wearing then, and quickly buttoned the shirt the rest of the way, her cheeks bright pink. I turned away, moving to sit on my end of the bed with my back to her. Glancing around, I spotted a pair of striped jimjam bottoms hanging out of my bureau and grabbed them, tugging them on. As I did so, I took in the rest of the room, noting the trail of our clothing from yesterday leading from the closed door of the sitting room.

I looked back at her. She was sitting on the edge of the mattress, wringing her hands. She wasn’t shouting at me and that was... nice, at least. I didn’t know yet if it was good, I’d never seen her panic before, for all I knew this _could_ be Rose in a panic. A thought occurred to me and I went around the bed to her, pulling back the collar of the shirt. I frowned as a few red marks along her neck and shoulders were revealed.

“Well, we evidently did _something,_ ” I said. “Though this doesn’t prove much.”

She stood up and gently ran her fingers across my shoulder. “You, too.” I hadn’t looked in a mirror yet, but apparently Rose had done some marking of her own last night. And now was not the time to be happy about that.

I sighed. There was one way, that I knew of, to be more sure. “I’ll be right back,” I told her, and went to the ensuite. I closed the door and headed for the toilet.

A moment or two and then... Sure enough, I was peeing like I’d had sex. Bugger.

When I came back into the bedroom, Rose had that long skirt from yesterday on over the Oxford and was crawling around looking for, presumably, her other clothes. Idly, I picked up my shirt and jeans and tossed them toward the hamper.

She hadn’t said anything, but we had to acknowledge what happened sometime and I figured sooner was better than later. “I think we might have,” I said at length, retrieving her top from a far-flung corner. “As far as I can tell.”

After pulling her bra out from under the bed, she straightened up and looked at me, sitting back on her heels with a crushed look on her face. “I think so, too.” She glanced away. “I’m a bit... sore.”

My heart fell somewhere between my kidneys. On top of everything, I’d _hurt_ her as well. I went over and knelt before her, dropping her shirt and bowing my head, feeling like I shouldn’t even have the right to look at her, let alone touch her things. “I’m sorry, Rose,” I said, my voice tight. “I am so, so sorry... I’m no better than that arse who abused you, _tá mé píosa de cac fiú aon rud...”_ Tears stung the back of my eyes as I rambled in Gaelic, my self loathing compounding on itself.

“Doctor, stop,” she said softly, reaching out for my hands. “We were drunk, we don’t even remember what happened, I don’t blame you.”

Her warmth was a balm and I ran my thumbs across the backs of her hands, grateful for the contact, but I still shook my head. “I should have been responsible, should have been able to control myself--”

“What if you did?” she asked, suddenly. “What if you were and it was me who started...” She trailed off, sadness creasing her forehead. “I guess there’s no way of knowing.”

“No hidden cameras, sorry,” I said, dryly. I looked up at her, her perplexed expression a mirror of my own. “You are far too good, Rose. Any sane person would hate me for what we think happened. Why aren’t you crying or screaming at me or... something?”

“Trust me, on the inside, I am going to pieces. But crying and screaming isn’t going to do either one of us much good, is it?”

“Brilliant, as ever.” She managed a small smile which I returned, though it ended in a sigh. I glanced over at the door, then back at her. “Should we go survey the damage?”

“Might as well.” We both climbed to our feet, but I couldn’t bear to let go of her hand. I felt utterly lost and was glad to have her anchoring me. Thankfully, she didn’t pull away and together we made for the sitting room.

I opened the door. “Bloody hell,” I murmured as the scene was revealed. I leaned against the door frame, disbelief filling me. Rose brought her free hand up, covering her mouth, as her eyes went wide.

The telly was still on, the DVD screensaver rotating around and around, movie cases strewn on the floor. There were empty and half-eaten pints of ice cream here and there, and I’d never been so grateful to have wooden floors. Getting the stains out of carpet would have been murder. Wine bottles decorated numerous surfaces and I doubted there was any liquid left in them. I was glad to see no broken glass, but popcorn was _everywhere._ On opposite sides of the room were what looked like little barricades made out of the couch cushions. My sluggish memory sparked a bit.

“I think I remember this,” I said, dropping her hand and going over to the nearest tiny cushion fort. I pulled out an empty pizza box. “We had a popcorn war.”

“With the boxes for shields,” she said, slowly, as if part of the memory was returning for her as well. She looked around at the carnage. “I don’t know who won.”

“By the looks of things, I’m not sure we knew _then_ either.” I sat down on the piano bench, scrubbing my face with my hands. “Blimey.”

Rose padded over to join me, leaning against the instrument as she had a few days ago. “You got that right.”

I really had no idea where to even start. I supposed by cleaning up anything wet and/or sticky. And then there was the need-to-happen conversation between myself and Rose. Right now, we were both confused and grasping at anything to feel normal again, but while she’d given her tacit forgiveness, I needed to know where her head was at, if this changed anything, because I couldn’t lose her. Even if my love for her was one-sided, her friendship was precious to me.

“All right,” I said. “You go ahead and shower. I’ll get started on all... this.” I gestured vaguely at everything.

“I’ve got a better idea,” she said, startling me. _“You_ shower and _I’ll_ start on this. Then while I shower, you make breakfast for both of us, because I’m rubbish in the kitchen.”

I had to admit, it was a good plan. And despite the copious amounts of food and alcohol we’d consumed yesterday, I was starting to feel hungry. “You sure?” I asked, just in case.

“Where do you keep your cleaning products?” she said in answer.

“Under the sink.”

She moved off toward the kitchen and, unwilling to argue her logic, I headed for the ensuite once again. And I thought yesterday’s morning had been interesting. I was glad to have a few minutes to myself, I had to think. I had to do something to make this right.


	6. Putting It Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of NSFW stuff in this chapter.

In the midst of scrubbing myself down with my new favorite soap, I noticed something else that added a puzzle piece to ‘what Rose and the Doctor did last night.’ Each one of my toenails was now a light pink. She must have convinced me at some point that returning the favor was a good idea. Staring down at my feet, a sliver of memory wiggled its way through and I had a brief image of the two of us on the sofa, with her trying not to tickle me as she painted my toes in a very unsteady hand.

At least I’d remembered something, that was good. It was also good that I wasn’t in the habit of wearing sandals. I hurried through the rest of my shower, eager to have a cuppa and see what else I could jog out of my still hazy brain.

As I slipped into a fresh pair of jeans and a grey henley, I also pulled out a shirt and a pair of clean sweat pants for Rose. I figured they’d be a little long for her, but better than wearing the same outfit from yesterday, especially if we were going to be tidying up.

When I went back into the sitting room, I found her brushing popcorn out of the well of the couch before putting the cushions back in place. She’d collected all the empty wine bottles and had set them in a neat row by the front door, like little glass soldiers lined up for inspection. I also noted that the cartons of ice cream had been picked up and the melted puddles had disappeared. She straightened when she noticed I’d returned, giving me a somewhat uncertain smile.

I offered her the fresh clothing. “Thought you might want to put something else on after getting washed up,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said, moving to me and taking the bundle.

“I’ll just...” I gestured toward the kitchen.

“Yeah.”

We awkwardly moved around each other as she headed for the bedroom and I went to make breakfast. I immediately filled the kettle and flipped it on before setting out the ingredients for my favorite pancakes with bananas. As I worked, I wondered if we should try to have THE conversation while we ate, or while we cleaned, or if we should wait until we were done and could give each other our full attention. Then I began thinking that planning it out might result in more awkwardness. _Then_ I thought that if I didn’t plan it out, we might not talk about it at all, and we couldn’t just pretend it didn’t happen... Right? Ugh, sometimes I really hated how I overthought everything.

The kettle flipped off and I set to work fixing myself some tea as I kept an eye on the pancakes sizzling on the griddle. As I retrieved some milk from the refrigerator, I noticed that both the leftover spice cake and the white cake had disappeared.

 _It says on the bottle that it’s a dessert wine!_ Rose’s laughing voice came drifting out of the recesses of my memory.

 _Cake it is, then!_ I heard my own voice’s response. Another puzzle piece clicked into place. I could only hope that more memories would come up, possibly ones with more answers.

The first sip of tea spread through me like a warm blanket and the second began kicking at the foggy corners of my mind, prompting a few more memories to poke through; feeding each other bits of cake whenever we felt the need, fingernails scratching along my scalp as she played with my hair, the two of us deciding that the piano was off limits in the ‘war,’ to my great relief, as I’d been dreading cleaning popcorn out of it. Brilliant thing, tea. I’d have the mystery of last night sorted by my third cup, I was sure.

Rose rejoined me in the kitchen, just as I was pulling the pancakes out of the oven where they were kept warm. She looked adorable in my shirt and too-long sweats, with her damp hair pulled back into a half-bun. I set the table while she made herself a cuppa and then we sat down, tucking in with abandon. I could tell that the food and drink was doing wonders for the both of us, she was looking more and more alert with each mouthful.

“I knew whatever you made would be better than the toast I manage,” she said, around a bite of pancakes.

“I’m sure you make wonderful toast,” I said with a grin. “Thank you, though. Any memories coming through?”

“A few scattered here and there,” she admitted. “I remembered painting your toes. Sorry.”

“It’s all right. I remembered that, too. I must have thought it was great idea at the time.”

Her cheeks turned pink and she studied her plate. “Let me know if you remember where we put my knickers. It’s the only thing I haven’t found yet.”

I fought the urge to blush along with her, but knew it was a losing battle. “I’m sure they’ll turn up as we get things tidy. Thanks for getting a head start, by the way.”

“I can’t believe we drank so much...”

“I’m just relieved we’re not cleaning up puddles of sick.” I put down my fork. “Aaaand there goes the appetite. Thank you, my gob, once again.”

She giggled, but I noticed that she stopped eating as well.

I turned the radio to my favorite classical station as we cleaned up the flat. Rose took the broom and started sweeping up the popcorn as I began binning garbage and searching for missing items. I found a few DVDs in the fruit bowl and a pile of sheet music and song books in a corner. At least we hadn’t decided to use them as napkins or some such.

As I sat down on the sofa to sort the trash on the coffee table, a flash of Rose and I cuddled together against the cushions last night came to me. I was stretched out long ways with one arm behind my head, she was laying half on top of me with her face nuzzling my chest. Me, looking down at her, the same time she looked up. I remembered those half-lidded eyes looking into mine. Her hand reaching up, then sliding back into my hair. Those fingernails against my scalp as she leaned up...

With a jolt, I returned to the present. Rose had kissed _me._ Earlier, I hadn’t remembered her playing with my hair, I’d remembered her tugging me closer as we snogged. And oh, _God,_ did that memory feel _good._ Good enough that I wished it could happen again so I could have a more distinctive remembrance.

She glanced at me and stopped sweeping as she caught sight of my expression. Her brow furrowed a bit. “What is it?” she asked.

“Uh... Nothing. Just...” I scrambled, not sure if I should tell her what I’d remembered. “Can’t find the remote.”

I couldn’t tell from her face if she believed me, but she said, “Try under the sofa,” before going back to sweeping.

Dutifully, I knelt next to the sofa and felt under it. I swept a bunch of popcorn out along with... My heart thudded. Tiny white cotton knickers. Another flash of memory seared itself into my brain, this one much more vivid as I clutched the physical reminder in my hand...

Lips, tongues, teeth. The feeling of ‘why had this taken so long?’ Her hands, touching me everywhere she could reach, sliding up my shirt and moving down to cup me through my jeans. With a growl, I lifted her above me and switched our positions so she was stretched out along the other side of the couch and I was on top of her, pushing clothing out of the way when necessary in order to taste her neck, her collarbone, the swell of each breast and lace covered nipples that had tightened into tiny buds. Her hands running through my hair and grasping my neck as she moaned and gasped. Lower, I tasted her stomach and kissed her hip bones as I shoved her long skirt up and up. She was whispering the word ‘yes’ over and over as she lifted herself up to assist in the removal of her knickers, which I tossed carelessly aside without looking to see where they fell. I kissed my way down her long legs until she was begging, tugging at my hair to bring me to where she needed me...

“Where were they?”

Rose’s voice startled me and I turned my head to see her standing on the other side of the coffee table. I looked back down at her knickers in my hands and swallowed thickly. “Under the sofa,” I said, dropping the article of clothing on the table between us.

She tilted her head. “How on Earth did they end up...” She stopped and I looked back at her as her eyes went wide and her mouth slowly fell open. It didn’t take a mind as brilliant as mine to figure out that the same memory had come back to her. “Oh.” She dropped the broom as both hands flew to her face. “Oh, no...”

“Rose,” I began, but she was already pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

“We did it,” she said. “We really did it. I mean, I know we thought we did, but now...” She paused and I saw her throat work as she swallowed. “I remember. Most of it, anyway. And it was my fault...”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault, we were drunk!” I said, getting to my feet, unwilling to have her place the blame on herself.

“But I kissed you! And then we...”

“I kissed you back!”

Her face went white. “Oh, God!” She ran into the bedroom and I quickly followed her. She climbed onto the bed and tossed the sheets, then looked under the pillows before getting down and crawling around on the floor, looking under the bed.

“What are you doing?” I asked finally, utterly confused.

She didn’t answer, just ran into the ensuite. I went as far as the door. She was sitting on the toilet, holding the bin in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking and I thought she was crying, but then she looked up and I saw she was suppressing laughter. She tilted the bin toward me and I saw what was so important: several used condoms lay on the bottom.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and collapsed against the doorframe while hysterical laughter took over Rose. Apparently, even in my highly inebriated state, I had remembered to take precautions for both of us. I knew she was laughing out of relief. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what her reaction would have been if she hadn’t found the evidence she’d been looking for. Or _my_ reaction, for that matter.

When the giggles had died down, we looked at each other, as if waiting for something to happen.

“We need to talk about this,” I said, finally. She nodded and set the bin on the floor before following me back out into the bedroom.

Sitting on the end of the bed, we were silent for a while longer. I was expecting something brilliant to come to mind, but nothing had so far. I braced my hands on my knees and looked at her, taking a deep breath.

“Honesty? Even if it hurts?”

She nodded. “Honesty.”

“I feel guilty. But not regret.” She bit her lip and looked at the floor. I sighed, tugging at my hair. “I am sorry, Rose, but it would be a lie if I said I wouldn’t do this again in a heartbeat. In fact, the only thing I regret is not remembering most of it.”

“Me too,” she said, very softly. She still wasn’t looking at me, instead she focused on her hands as she fidgeted. “I wish I could remember the rest.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Did this... mean anything?”

“I... don’t know,” she said, looking utterly confused. “It shouldn’t. It can’t.”

“I know.” I paused. Neither one of us seemed to have an answer to that question, even though we both knew what it should be. “What does this mean for us now?” She shifted uncomfortably. “Because we still have a show to plan and perform and you know it won’t be easy if we continue to let things be awkward.”

“I just feel so much guilt,” she said, miserably. “Poor Mickey... What am I going to say to him? I can’t just... not tell him. And he’ll want to blame you and it’s not your fault--”

“It isn’t your fault either,” I said quickly.

“I get that, but I don’t know if he will. He’s not going to want me around you anymore, and that’s just not an option.” She sighed, running a hand over her face.

She looked so crushed, it physically brought an ache to my chest. Everything within me cried out to help her, to fix this, and I just wasn’t sure how. I couldn’t bear the thought that I’d done this to her. Even if it hurt, I had to think of a way to get Mickey to forgive her... and me, so that he wouldn’t insist we stay apart. I tried to think, what would I do, how would I react, if Rose told me that she’d ended up sleeping with someone because she’d gotten drunk.

“Okay, I think I have an idea,” I said. She lifted her eyes to mine, appearing surprised. “He’s going to be hurt, possibly feeling betrayed, it’s how I’d feel if it were happening to me. So, here’s what you do. You go home and you devote the next few days to Mickey. Tell him in your own time, just be with him and make sure he knows that it’s what you want, above everything, to be with him. And assure him that this,” I gestured between the two of us, “didn’t mean anything. I don’t know if that’ll be enough, but if it were me... Well, I’d be willing to work through this.”

She was staring at me and I wondered if she was thinking through my ‘idea.’ Something else occurred to me. “Oh!” I stood up and went to the sitting room, aware that Rose was following. I unearthed the envelope from the New London Theater from the pile on the coffee table and turned around, extending it to her. “I’m doing a solo night on Friday, they gave me comp tickets. Take Mickey, tell him it’s, I don’t know, my rubbish way of apologizing.”

“I had no idea you had a performance coming up,” she said, taking the tickets from me.

“Neither did I, until yesterday,” I said, wryly. “You taking the next few days off will give me some time to prepare for it, and we still have several weeks until Children in Need, so there’s still time for us to put everything together.” I laid a hand gently on her shoulder and she looked up at me, her eyes still so full of confusion. “It’ll be all right,” I said, softly. “We have to believe that.”

She nodded. “Sure you don’t need my help with the rest of the flat?” she asked.

“I think I can handle the rest. It’s really just scooping up the piles of popcorn at this point.” I gave her a smile, mostly because I felt like she needed to see that I was okay. I was far from being that, but she didn’t need to know. “I’ll talk to you this weekend, all right?”

“Okay.” She gathered up her belongings and headed for the door with me right behind her. She turned, her hand on the doorknob, looking at me uncertainly. Wanting things to at least seem normal for her, I leaned in and hugged her. I felt her sigh against my neck and I closed my eyes for a moment, memorizing this moment in case I never got to hold her close again.

Reluctantly, I let her go. Because I had to. Because she had to. Because we couldn’t.

“Bye,” she said in a tiny voice as she retreated into the hall.

I gave her a little wave of my fingers, not trusting my own voice to remain steady, then closed the door. I leaned my forehead against the cool wood, allowing my smile to fade as a deep sigh to fell from me.

I needed help.

But Rose was my one real friend. Who could I talk to? About this?

I went to the bedroom and grabbed my mobile from the nightstand, flipping through my contact list. Not Donna, of that I was sure, she’d never let me hear the end of it. But who-- I paused over the name currently displayed. Oh, no... I couldn’t. But... Well, I did need someone experienced. I groaned. Time to put my pride and quite possibly my dignity aside.

I hit the call button, part of me hoping it would go to voice mail.

“Well, if it isn’t Colonel Sexy Hair.”

“Shut it, Captain Chin Dimple.” Our usual exchange was without my traditional enthusiasm and I’m sure Jack picked up on it.

“What’s up?”

I grit my teeth. “I need your help.”

“What’s the show?”

Of course he’d assume I meant with a performance, I’d never really had a social call with him before. “Actually... more like, I need your advice.” I wondered for a moment if he’d refuse, I had no idea if he’d be willing to do the whole ‘friends’ thing with me.

“You... What?” He sounded incredulous.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t ask unless it was serious.”

“Oh, I believe it.”

I paused. “Are you busy?”

He assured me he wasn’t and gave me the name of a pub near him. I asked him to meet me in an hour then rang off. I scrubbed my slightly rough cheek with one hand and wondered if I’d done the right thing for the second time today. I went back into the living area and glanced at the neatly swept piles of popcorn before going to the kitchen to fetch the dustpan, wanting to be done with the flat before I needed to leave.

 

Jack ‘Chin Dimple’ Harkness was waiting for me, seated at the far end of the bar, by the time I’d gotten to the pub. He’d already ordered us drinks. I could have been there sooner, but I’d decided on changing my clothes and finally having a shave after finishing with cleaning.

“I didn’t know what you wanted--” he began, cutting himself off when I sat down on the barstool and took a large gulp of the ale he’d gotten me.

“I’m not bothered,” I said, then took another swallow. I was going to need the encouragement if I was going to open up to Jack.

He lifted an eyebrow at me as I drank. “Looks serious,” he said, amusement in his tone.

“It is,” I said in a slightly rough voice as I set down my now empty glass.

I opened my mouth-- and stopped, taking in his expectant expression. I could practically hear Rose’s voice, _Before we do the work bit, we do the friends bit._ She was still right, especially in this situation, I couldn’t just jump right in. Changing tactic, I leaned my elbow on the bar in what I hoped was a casual manner. “How... how are you, Jack?”

His brows drew together. “Fine. Thanks.”

It was glaringly obvious that he was confused by my behavior, not that I could blame him. Without Rose there to guide me, I was still utterly lost when it came to truly befriending people. Still, nothing for it but to muddle through. “Will you be in London long?”

He shrugged slightly. “A while yet. I’ll be starting up rehearsals for a new show next week. Why?”

“Oh, no reason, you know, just... ehm... wondering.”

He crossed his arms on the bar, leaning toward me. “John, what’s this about? You sounded desperate when you called earlier, and now you’re making small talk?” He gave me one of the looks I’d termed a ‘Harkness Special.’ “If you wanted to ask me out, you could have just said so.”

I glared at him and he laughed.

“Point taken! So, out with it.”

I sighed. “Look, someone told me that before you do the serious part, you do the ‘friend’ part, and moreover, I cannot possibly do the serious part without being friends with you first.”

He laughed again, knowingly this time. “So, you wanted advice from a friend. Okay, I can understand that. But why call me?”

This was more difficult to admit. “Because I also needed an expert.”

Slowly, he nodded, giving me another look as the information came together. “So, it’s about a relationship.”

“More or less... In that, right now it’s less.”

“But you want it to be more.” At my nod, he let out a breath and took a sip of his drink. “All right. I suggest we just get into it, because I figure we’ll be friends by the time we’re done here.”

I couldn’t really argue with that and started from the beginning, all the way from that first sound check to this morning. His eyes had bulged when I told him it was Rose that was the subject of my ardor, nearly resulting in a spit take. I carefully avoided certain things, merely stated that she’d told me about some troubles she’d had when she was younger and that I’d told her personal details about my own past and we’d become closer as a result. The expression on his face was utterly gobsmacked -- although, Jack was American. Did Americans say gobsmacked or was there another... Thunderstruck! There you are, perfectly American and completely nonsensical. You can’t, after all, get struck by thunder, but lightningstruck just doesn’t sound the same -- when I told him about waking up next to Rose after a night of getting dead pissed. He was nice enough not to laugh at the fact that neither of us could remember much, I suppose my miserable tone and expression had something to do with that.

“Wow,” said Jack when I finally finished. “And all this happened since last Friday?”

“I can’t believe it either, really,” I said. “Never happened to me before, the feelings that bubble up when I’m with her, the fascination, wanting just to have her smile... It’s like it was love at first sight. For me.” Had to clarify that.

He looked skeptical. “Just you? It sounds like she’s crazy about you.”

I scoffed. “She’s got a boyfriend.”

“I know, you told me, and you also told me why you don’t think she’s in love with him.”

“Speculation.”

“Maybe, but she didn’t deny it.” He leaned forward a bit. “Her reaction to this morning? Not the behavior of a woman who’s in love with someone else. She should have been devastated, instead, she was wishing she could remember the rest of what happened with you.” I was silent as I puzzled that around and he continued. “Rose is loyal, that much is clear, that’s why she was worried about that guy. She wasn’t acting like she wished it hadn’t happened, was she?”

“No.”

“So, maybe she feels something for you, too.” He tilted his head at me. “Did you ever actually _say_ you were interested in her?”

“Of course!” He inclined his head while lifting his brows, plainly disbelieving me. I pulled at my ear, my gaze sliding away. “It was... strongly implied.”

He snorted with laughter. I supposed he had a point... I’d told Rose that she fascinated me, enthralled me even. She’d given me her explanation about not dating when I’d hinted at being interested, but I’d never _explicitly_ said that my interest was more than friendly. And yes, I’d said I would repeat last night if I could, but what bloke wouldn’t?

When he’d managed to stop giggling, Jack grinned at me. “John, I think the time for ‘strong implication’ is over. You want this girl? Go all out. Really show her what she means to you. Prove that what you feel for her means more.” He paused. “Think you can do that?”

I stared at the bar, my new friend’s words turning and turning in my head. Slowly, an idea was starting to form. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it, a smile spreading across my face. “Yeah. I think I can.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to write her a love letter.”

His shoulders slumped. “Really?” he said, clearly disappointed.

I smirked. “Will you help me?”

“Haven’t I already?” he asked with a smile. “Why would you need my help with a letter?”

“Oh, I’m going to need a lot more help than just you, Jack. It’s time to call in some favors.”


	7. One Night With John Smith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW!

Two days later, mild deja vu as I stood in the wings of a theater, listening to the sounds of the audience coming in, with my eyes closed. I had done this exact same ritual only a week ago, and yet so much had changed since then. This time, I was standing in my familiar brown pinstriped suit and battered white chucks. It was a different theater. And I was only picturing one person tonight, one woman who had changed my life in such a short span of time. The auditorium might have been sold out, but as far as I was concerned, I was playing for only one member of the audience, one pink and yellow girl.

I heard heels clicking on the floor behind me and opened my eyes as I turned to smile at Donna. She looked quite elegant with her ginger hair coifed into a fancy bun and her simple, tasteful blue dress that tapered to the knee. “Well?” I asked, nervously.

“Taken care of,” she said. “She was quite surprised by the flowers, but I think her fellow was more so. I hope she likes them, it took quite a bit of searching to find a florist that had Syrian Mallow blossoms this time of year!”

They were also called the Rose of Sharon and quite similar to a hibiscus, but I wouldn’t lecture Donna, she wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. I was confident in my belief that Rickey wouldn’t understand the meanings behind my unusual bouquet of lilacs, yellow tulips, and Syrian Mallows, but I didn’t know if Rose would either. If I had the chance later on, I’d take great pleasure in explaining what I wanted to tell her through the language of flowers; the first emotions of love, hopeless love, and consumed by love.

Maybe it was rude to send a girl flowers while she was on a date with another bloke, but that was me. Rude and not-ginger. All’s fair in love and war, right? Besides, that would be the least of my sins before the evening was over.

“You’re the best,” I said, giving her a hug, trying to put everything I meant behind the small statement. Donna really was, she put up with me and my weird travel habits, my picky nature when it came to jobs, my not-so-convenient forgetting, and now, running all over town to try and put together a strange bouquet of flowers for a girl I’d only told her about two days ago.

She hugged me back for a moment before brushing me off in typical fashion, but her cheeks were a touch pink and I knew she was pleased by my gratitude. “That’s enough of that,” she said. “Shall I go see if the others are ready? It’s almost time.”

I nodded and her heels clicked away as she headed backstage. I looked out at the stage, at the wonderful set they’d put together for me. They hadn’t known what music I chose, so it was fairly generic, but still beautiful. The polished grand piano sat center stage, just behind were two huge swathes of white fabric, stretching up to the flies. The white backdrop had a blue wash, set so that it went from light to dark the higher it went, and computer generated stars were projected on top, twinkling here and there ever so slightly every few seconds.

Taking a few deep breaths, I attempted to calm my thudding heart. I was nervous to be onstage for the first time in years, but not really because of the performance, because of what I was trying to say through the performance. Would she understand?

I heard footsteps approaching and turned to face the small group I’d assembled after much pleading and begging and calling in of favors. I knew my nerves were showing as I grinned at them because Jack squeezed my upper arm, giving me an encouraging smile.

“Thank you all for doing this, especially on such short notice,” I said. “I hope it works.”

From his place in the wings, the stage manager told me that the lapel microphones were going live and we were ready to start. With another calming breath, I nodded and he gave the signal to raise the curtain. Amid applause, I strode out into the spotlight and stood before the piano. I couldn’t see anything beyond the lights, but I trained my gaze to where the center front of the mezzanine would be. Where Rose would be.

“Good evening,” I said, my voice echoing through the speakers. “Honestly, I’m quite surprised to find you all packed in here, considering none of you knew what the program was going to be.” Mild laughter. “Well, you’re all in for a surprise because I’m not here alone, I’ve brought some friends. I know you thought this was a solo night, but I hope you’ll forgive me because they’re all brilliant.” I smiled softly, imagining I could see her out there in the dark. “I met someone recently who inspired tonight’s concert. With that in mind, I’d like to start us off with a familiar theme. You all know the whole boy meets girl, boy falls for girl thing, well, I call this portion ‘Boy Meets Girl... and Promptly Falls Arse Over Elbow.’”

I sat down at my instrument and began the opening to _The Way You Look Tonight_ with Jack coming out of the wings singing, amid more applause.

Jack handled the song with the charm and ease of Sinatra. After the song and applause had died down, I introduced him, “The man who needs no introduction... but I’ll do so anyway. Jack Harkness. My friend,” I added a second later with a smile. He winked at me in return, but I let it pass with a mere roll of my eyes, after all, it was because of him that I was attempting this.

I changed gears and we headed into _Can’t Fight This Feeling_ by REO Speedwagon. I knew this was a big departure, as most of my preferred repertoire included classical and vintage songs from the 30s or 40s, I almost never played modern or pop music. But I’d worked with very little sleep the past two nights to pick songs and create arrangements to modulate the music into something sounding a bit more my style. Because this night was for Rose, and I would write her the most beautiful love letter I could, using lyrics that reminded me of her.

 _My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you._  
I've been running round in circles in my mind.  
And it always seems that I'm following you, girl,  
Cause you take me to the places, that alone I'd never find. 

When the song ended, I immediately segued into the next as Jack left the stage and my next guest joined me. Martha Jones was a very talented singer, with a range encompassing pop, blues, and jazz, and she sang a moving rendition of _Because of You_ by Keith Martin in her smooth, smoky voice.

I gave Martha her introduction and she surprised me by telling the audience why she agreed to perform tonight. “I met this man in a hospital while I was waiting to see my mum. He remarked how dull it was and came back the next day to play for the patients. No one asked him to, no one paid him, he just did it, because that’s the sort of bloke he is. He’s wonderful. And I think I fell in love with him a little bit that day.” She gave me a shy smile and I knew I blushed to the tips of my ears. “Pity he’s already got his eye on someone.”

A little more loudly than I meant to, I rushed into the next song, _Unbelievable_ by Craig David. It took a while for the heat in my face to die down. Martha was really unbelievable, pun intended. I almost didn’t pick this song because it contained so many cliches, especially ‘you complete me.’ But the sentiment of ‘I was lost and you’ve rescued me’ stuck, so I’d asked Martha to sing it.

When Martha had finished and left the stage, I introduced my next guest, Astrid Peth, a petite girl with a big voice, whom I’d met while alternating performances with her on a cruise ship. She sang _A Thousand Years,_ a song that most of my regular audience would be too old to recognize. The movie and book series associated with it made me cringe, but a good song was a good song. If I had a thousand years to give, I knew I would spend them loving Rose.

When the applause died down, I addressed the audience again. “So, the boy met the love of his life, but of course, he has to bollocks it up, so I call this next section ‘Boy Loses Girl... and Is A Right Misery.’”

Astrid remained onstage to sing an ethereal version of _The Scientist_ by Coldplay, the song of a logical man perplexed by the messages of his heart. She smiled and self-consciously tucked a wayward blond curl behind an ear as the audience applauded her.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m so happy I could be here tonight, it’s lucky I was in London when John called me. When I met him, he put stars in my eyes when he spoke of his travels. All new places, whole new skies. The entire time I’d been singing on a cruise liner, I’d never once stepped outside to see the wonder of being someplace else. I went and saw those places for myself because of him, even when I had to wait tables to do it.” She giggled. “He inspired me, to go after what I wanted, to do whatever I had to do to get there.”

She sang _Love Song for a Vampire_ by Annie Lennox, wiping her eyes as the emotional song drew tears from her, but her voice never faltered. When she sang about ‘the rarest rose,’ I looked again out to where another Rose would be seated, willing her with my gaze to understand what I was trying to say. When Astrid finished, the audience cheered and she came to the piano, giving me a warm hug, our microphones making scuffling noises, before leaving the stage.

Jack came back out for a slower, sadder version of _Can’t Smile Without You,_ followed by a rendition of _Every Single Day_ that was so powerful, it brought the show to a standstill with a standing ovation. He gave me a smug smile over his shoulder and I told the audience after he retreated to the wings that Mr. Manilow might write the songs that make the whole world cry, but it was Jack who sang them.

The curtain lowered for the interval and the stage manager signaled the mics were off. I expelled a huge breath, slumping forward until my head rested on the music ledge of the piano. A hand patted me on the back.

“Is it really all that bad?” asked Jack.

I let out a short laugh. “No, in fact, you all are rather wonderful, though I suspect you, at least, knew that.” He chuckled and I straightened up, rubbing my forehead to ensure I didn’t have a mark. “But the harder part comes next. I know the ‘special guest’ part is over, but will you stay? In case I... I don’t know, faint or something?”

“Of course, I’m seeing this through to the end after you dragged me into it.” I knew his smile was meant to be reassuring, but my stomach still roiled with nerves. “We’re all staying. Whether you knew it or not, we’re your friends.”

A smile crept across my face, delight chasing some of the butterflies away. “Thanks, Jack.”

“No problem.”

“Oi, Spaceman!” Donna came out of the wings, hands on hips. “Go get changed before the interval’s over!”

“Right, sorry,” I said as I got to my feet. “Lost without you, Donna.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, pushing me toward the backstage area where I could change into the blue suit I’d worn on mine and Rose’s first ‘date.’

When I came back to the stage, I saw that they’d altered the lighting a bit, so instead of a blue wash, it was darker, more purple-y. I assumed my agent had something to do with it, so my suit wouldn’t blend into the background. The stage manager asked me if I was ready. Was I? I was one set away from laying my heart bare for all to see. It was now or never. I nodded. The house lights dimmed, the curtain rose, and I again walked onstage to stare into the dark.

“I know this evening’s entertainment has been a little unorthodox for me, so if you didn’t leave during the interval,” I paused as some people laughed, “here’s some more traditional fare. And we’ll call this bit ‘Boy Takes a Bit of a Break and Plays Some Classical Music.’”

I closed my eyes and fell into the familiar strains of _Fur Elise._ It was quite possibly the most well known classical piece ever written, but it stayed with my theme. Even during this set, I played only songs written by the composers for the women in their lives, the darkly haunting _Moonlight_ sonata and the two sonatas in Opus 102 by Beethoven and then I slipped into Mozart’s pieces he’d supposedly written for his wife, Constanze.

A critic once called me “The Blind Bard,” because I always closed my eyes when I played solo. In the darkness, I could feel the music, the vibrations, and concentrate better than I could if I had visual distraction. With my eyes closed, I could imagine all the lights and people away, until it was just me in the dark with the music... and now her. A crescendo of ecstacy rose within the staves of the music and in my mind, it was her body my fingers caressed, not an inanimate instrument, which only came to life beneath my expert touch.

It was a rubbish title. I couldn’t picture the real Bard in my trademark pinstripes, and there was no way I’d ever wear one of those silly neck ruffles. Besides, Shakespeare didn’t even play the piano. Perhaps he meant ‘bard’ as someone who recited epic poetry while playing an instrument, but then it was generally a harp, so the description still didn’t fit. Like I said: rubbish title.

I could practically feel her out there. One pair of eyes that would not disappear, a gaze I could feel like a brand on my skin, the intimate scent of vanilla and something just innately _Rose_ that drifted impossibly through the air just to tease my senses; she drew me to her completely.

As I brought the classical section to a close and the audience clapped, I felt my nerves return in force because now was the hard part. I turned to face the gaping blackness beyond the lights and offered a brave smile.

“With that out of the way, we’re headed into the final section of the evening. And I want to thank every one of you for staying with me thus far as I am going to do something I have never done in a concert before. I offer my most humble apologies because I am going... to sing.” There was some scattered chuckling and applause at my pronouncement. “You remember the person I mentioned who inspired tonight? Well... she told me that all I had to do was find the right song to fit my particular vocal talents. So, I am going to share with you my guilty pleasure songs... The ones I usually only sing in the car.” A bit more laughter, which was helping to diffuse the butterfly situation in my stomach. “This bit is... very personal,” I said, more seriously. “And for good reason, I call this part of the show ‘Boy Lost Girl and Now Tries to Win Her Back By Dedicating an Entire Concert To Her.’”

Feeling my cheeks already starting to get warm, I shut my eyes again and began to play music from two of my favorite bands, music I’d only ever played for fun, for myself, before. Rose changed everything. She deserved everything, and because of that, I offered all of myself, playing and singing _Disease, Bent, As I Am, Iris, Mad Season, Let Love In, Ever the Same,_ one after another. Hope trembled in my heart, clinging tenuously to the belief that she would know, that the music would tell her far better than three meager words how I felt about her, how much I wanted her, however undeserving I was.

I inclined my head as the audience applauded, grateful that I hadn’t sounded too bad if their reaction was anything to go by. I also had a feeling that parts of what just happened would appearing on social media later on. I hoped it would be worth it.

“This is my final piece,” I said, my voice a little rough, the lump in my throat having nothing to do with the singing I did. “It means... a lot to me. I don’t normally play this for concerts... but I hope she knows why I’m playing it tonight.”

Thinking of Rose, I slipped into _Variation on a Theme by Paganini,_ my finale. I kept my eyes closed. If I opened them, I knew I would automatically seek her out and if I somehow managed to see her out in the dark, it would be fatal. My breath would catch, muscles lock, resulting in a jarring discord. I couldn’t let that happen, not on this piece. As the notes glided on the air, I imagined her sitting up just a little straighter, her small hand going to her throat, those luminous topaz colored eyes beginning to shimmer with tears, perhaps remembering the first time I played this piece for her, just a few days ago. The first time she cried in front of me. When I held her in my arms, brushing her tears away, her face so close to mine. The nearly-almost kiss. The music I created swelled beneath my hands and my breath hitched for a moment as I saw those tears spill again in my mind’s eye. I knew that, even if my ‘love letter’ failed, this small piece of her, I could take. Something I could hold in my heart, in a secret place, where no one, not even her, could harm it.

This was your song now, Rose. For this, you belonged to me.

I could still hear the audience after the curtain had come down and my heart thudded, appreciating the proof that, if nothing else, the performance had gone well. My friends and agent joined me onstage, clapping along and smiling, and I felt fit to burst. These people had gone out of their way to help me, they were brilliant and talented and they were my friends. I wanted to sweep them all up into a hug, but contented myself with mumbling my sincere gratitude around a goofy smile instead.

The stage manager came forward to untangle me from the lapel mic as our little group dispersed. Donna stayed, informing me, “I’ve already moved your other suit and things to your car. I don’t trust you to properly clean up after yourself after your last solo night.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Eleven banana peels ring any bells?”

I ducked my head as I recalled _that_ solo concert. “I hadn’t eaten that day and all I had with me was the bunch, I was delirious from hunger, you can’t expect me to remember--”

“Whatever,” she said in her usual manner as the stage manager retreated. “Over and done with and your things are in your car.”

“Thanks,” I said, the two of us heading to the backstage area. “Good show?”

“Odd, but good,” she said, nodding. Donna was always honest.

I pulled at my ear. “Do you think Rose liked it?”

She stopped, looking at something over my shoulder. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

I froze and my heart skipped, how many beats, I wasn’t sure. Turning, I saw her a short distance away, standing by the stage door in a short but tasteful black dress, her hair in soft, loose curls. She was holding the bouquet by her side in one hand. And she was _alone._ She smiled, lighting up the dark area, and my world narrowed until she was all that existed. I wasn’t sure when we moved, but suddenly we were standing in front of each other, and from this close, I could see the faint tracks her mascara had left on her cheeks that she’d tried to wipe away. Something squeezed my heart, seeing the evidence that my performance had affected her. I wanted to take her in my arms, but I couldn’t. Not until I knew...

“It was a beautiful concert, Doctor,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

“Thank you.” My eyes searched her face for some clue. “It was for you, all of it,” I said, feeling silly for pointing that out, but I had to be sure. No more ‘strong implications.’

“I know.” She blushed then. “Though I don’t know _why_ you did it.”

I held out my hand, unable to keep from touching her any longer. Her fingers twined with mine and I marveled again at how well we fit. “It was a love letter, Rose,” I said softly, running my thumb across hers. “I couldn’t just say I loved you, it sounds so... small. So trite, compared to how you make me feel. I told you with music, something that touches both of us. I know I used other people’s words, but I’ll write my own song for you if that’s what you want.” I took a breath, touching her cheek with my other hand as I watched her eyes beginning to shine with new tears. “You deserve so much more than that. That’s why tonight happened. I needed to show you how I really felt. I hoped you would understand.”

She nodded. “I do.” She closed her eyes and the tears fell, I let go of her to find a tissue in my jacket pocket and gently dabbed them away. She gave a watery laugh. “Thank you.” She took a breath and looked back up at me. “I told Mickey. At the interval.”

My muscles stiffened.

“He was wanting a bit of an explanation by then. So I told him everything.” She paused, fidgeting a little with the flowers. “I told him I wasn’t in love with him and that I was sorry. I hadn’t intended on falling in love with someone else. It just sort of... happened.”

That little spark of hope in my chest was starting to grow, along with the grin on my face. “May I make a vast assumption?”

She gave me her cheeky tongue-touched smile. “Hopefully not _too_ vast.”

I swept her into my arms and kissed her, wrapping myself around her and holding her as tightly as I dared. I felt her arms come around me, heard the crinkle of the cellophane around the bouquet, and then her fingers were in my hair. Suddenly, everything was heat, lights burst behind my eyes, sound was reduced to the rush of blood in my ears. A shuddering breath left me through my nose. Her lips were so soft, an exquisite counterpoint to the hard kiss, she was far from timid as her tongue artfully dueled with mine. I moaned at the taste of her, something I hadn’t been able to remember. But I would remember this. The way she tilted her head to allow me better access, her hair brushing against my hands as I ran them up and down her back, the feel of her soft curves yielding to the angular planes of my body as I held her.

When I pulled back, it was only to rest my forehead against hers, unwilling to let go of her just yet. My eyes were still closed, part of me irrationally afraid that if I looked, she’d disappear, despite the fact that my hands rested on her hips. Her fingers caressed my face and I leaned into them, pressing a kiss to her palm.

“Your assumption was correct.”

We chuckled and I dared to open my eyes. Her face was flushed, her eyes half-lidded, her generous lips dark pink and moist. In that moment, I knew I’d never get enough of it. With a grin, she lifted herself up on her toes, bringing her mouth next to my ear, her hot breath ghosting across my cheek.

“Can we go to your flat? My date seems to have left with the car.”

My fingers tightened on her as my breath caught, my heart in my throat.

She rocked back on her heels, her eyes searching mine. “Unless that’s not--”

I stopped her with another kiss, one hand threading through her hair and coming to rest at the base of her neck. My knees wobbled when she made a soft, needy sound in the back of her throat as I stroked my tongue along the roof of her mouth. Her fingers were clutched in the lapels of my jacket and I wrapped my other arm around her waist, holding her to me, never wanting to let go, hoping we would both somehow hold each other up against the maelstrom of emotions swirling through me and (I hoped) through her.

It wasn’t until several moments later, when we managed to part enough to walk outside, hands tightly clasped, that I realized we must have given quite a show to the backstage crew. I couldn’t bring myself to feel too embarrassed, since I couldn’t remember noticing anyone other than Rose.

We walked out into the night, everything lined in silver by the moon above. In the shadows and moonlight, the blue of my old car became almost luminous, defying her age. I held open the passenger side door for her before tripping around to the driver’s and climbing in. She was rubbing the soft, worn fabric of the long bench seat with a smile playing on her face.

“Nice car,” she said. “What is it? I’ve never seen one like it.”

“It’s a Tardis,” I said, “they don’t make them anymore, only a few hundred were ever made before the company went bankrupt. Impossible to find parts for, I’ve had to adapt bits from at least five other cars to keep her running.”

Her tongue touched her smile and I had to swallow as my mouth went dry. “Her?” she asked, with a little giggle. “Typical bloke. Does she have a name?”

I blushed, not wanting to admit that I had, on occasion, called my car ‘Sexy.’ “Oh, no... It’s just the Tardis. That’s not bad, is it?”

“Not at all. You’re just adorable.”

I ducked my head and cleared my throat, concentrating on coaxing my car to life. After only a few grinding sounds, we were off.

“I upgraded the sound system first thing after I bought her,” I babbled, trying to distract myself from Rose enough to drive safely, as my body was intimately aware of her nearness. I gestured at the high tech CD changer installed on the dash which looked completely out of place next to the car’s vintage accessories. “Of course, that required a new battery, which was too large for the original casing, so I had to get a new one of those, and it wouldn’t fit unless I replaced the radiator and _that_ began to muck with the electrical, since by then the whole front grille needed to be adapted to fit around the new equipment. I was lucky to find another Tardis in a junkyard, a slightly bigger model, and I ended up just taking the entire front end. She might be a little tempermental, but she’s a great old car. We’ve been everywhere that didn’t require a boat.” I grinned, remembering the times she’d chosen to break down, leaving me stranded in the oddest of places. We always had great adventures. I glanced at the woman beside me, looking at me with a soft smile on her face and not minding my rambling at all, I found myself hoping Rose might want to share in those adventures and smiled back at her.

“I like her,” she said, with conviction. “She’s got lots of personality. And surprisingly roomy!”

“It’s the bench seating,” I explained. “Makes it seem bigger on the inside.”

“Wish she could talk,” she said, cheekily. “Bet she’d tell me a lot about you.”

“Ha! Listen to you, plotting on winning my car’s loyalty away from me.” We were at a stoplight and the car took the opportunity to rumble and stutter. “Oh no, you don’t!” I revved the engine, knowing that if I didn’t give her a little petrol while we were stopped, she would stall. But I frowned at Rose, as though the car had done it on purpose. “You see that? Girls all together. She must like you, too.”

She giggled and I grinned, the playful banter we seemed to be so good at wrapped around us like a familiar coat, but there was something different. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it was as if there was a deeper level to it now. It reminded me we were headed for my flat... after the snog (snogs, plural, heh) of my life... What were we going to do there? Talk? Snog some more? Or... I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to lose focus. And the last thing I wanted to do was pressure Rose.

One step at a time.

It seemed like no time at all before I was parking the Tardis in the car park of my building. With one hand on the back of the seat, I leaned across her to open her door. She must have thought I was going in for another kiss, because she caught my face in her hands and went for it. Her mouth was hot and open beneath mine and I wasn’t about to complain as I blindly groped for the door handle. Her fingers slowly trailed down my neck to my chest. I shivered.

With reluctance, I pulled away, staring into her dark eyes. “Rose, we don’t have to... I mean, I don’t expect...” My breathing was heavy and finding the appropriate words in my foggy brain was becoming more and more difficult. However, she smiled at me, seeming to understand.

“I know,” she said, softly. “Let’s go in.”

My hand depressed the latch and her door opened. As she slid out, I unfastened my seat belt and followed her, making sure the doors were locked as I wasn’t going to worry about my other suit at the moment. I led her up the back stairway, her fingers entwined with mine, and my heart thudded faster with each step we took toward the flat. My hand managed not to shake as I unlocked the door and gestured for her to preceed me.

When the door shut behind us and we were standing there in the living area, dim light coming from the windows beyond the piano, I realized that this was it. This was the moment that we, both completely sober, could take to turn our relationship from one as friends to something more. She dropped the bouquet of flowers and her purse on the coffee table and turned toward me. I hadn’t turned on the harsh overhead lights, so it was difficult to make out her features, but her eyes had a faint glimmer to them. Her heels clicked faintly on the hardwood floor as she walked toward me, stopping a few feet away.

I didn’t hesitate. I held out my hand and she took it. Pulling gently, I closed the distance between us, bringing our joined hands to my chest. With my other hand, I brushed a few wayward strands of her hair behind her ear and looked down into her eyes, fathomless emotion staring back at me. Her fingers curled around my lapel and slowly tugged me forward as she tilted her face up to mine.

This kiss was slow, smouldering, and heat began traveling through me as her hand moved from my jacket to the back of my neck and then up into my hair. A soft growl came from my throat as I found I really liked the way her fingers felt against my scalp. I released her hand so my fingers could curl around her hips, bringing her closer, fitting her perfectly against my body. I wanted her to feel what she did to me, to know that if she continued, there was only one way this evening would reach a conclusion. As my growing hardness pressed against the softness of her belly, her response was to moan against my lips and grasp my tie, tugging at the knot and pulling it free from my collar.

She tossed it over her shoulder and I had a feeling we’d be searching for clothing again in the morning. Her hands found their way under my jacket and pushed the garment from my shoulders. It crumpled on the floor and I just didn’t care.

“Bedroom,” she whispered against my lips and I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her off her feet, to carry her into the next room. I couldn’t bear to part from her long enough to walk ten paces.

I settled her on the edge of the bed and fell to my knees before her, lifting up each foot and removing her shiny black heels, pressing kisses to her ankles. I trailed my fingers up her legs, reveling, as I did before when I massaged them, in how soft they were yet still quite toned. I wondered briefly if she did morning runs too, before the thought evaporated when she reached for my Oxford and began deftly undoing the buttons. I tugged the shirt tails out of my trousers and undid the cuffs as she revealed the vest I wore underneath.

She gave me an exasperated expression around a grin. “You wear so many layers!”

“Complaining?”

“Now? Yes!”

We chuckled as I shrugged out of the Oxford and quickly pulled the undershirt over my head, leaving my chest bare. She’d seen me before, when we’d awoken the other day, but now she had the opportunity to explore and Rose Tyler was apparently not one to miss an opportunity. Her fingers trailed across my abdomen, which tightened with surprising sensitivity, and then upwards to trace her nails through the smattering of chest hair I possessed. I hissed in a breath as she brought her lips to my collarbone and nipped and sucked her way across. As she continued her exploration of my chest, her head bent and her hair cascaded over her shoulder and I could see down her back. The zipper of her dress taunted me.

Reaching with both hands, I fumbled with it a bit and swallowed a Gaelic curse when the bloody thing refused to come undone right away. She giggled lightly at the pleased sound I made when I finally managed it. She sat back up and, with a delicious wriggle, the dress fell from her arms and down to her waist. My breath caught at the sight of her breasts, still hidden behind black satin. I swallowed hard, my fingers twitching near her sides, as I ached to touch her.

I looked back up at her eyes, but rather than nod or give any other sign of permission, she stood up and let the dress fall to the floor, revealing her matching knickers. With one foot, she kicked it away and ran her hands down her sides. I remained at her feet, gazing up at her with my mouth slightly open. Soft moonlight was coming through my partially drawn blinds, giving her hair a faint glow and lining her body with silver as it fell on her.

“Rose, you’re gorgeous,” I whispered, hearing the awe in my own voice.

She blushed, biting down on her bottom lip and I stood, capturing it, and sucking it into my mouth as my arms went around her. My fingers kneaded the muscles of her back before traveling down to cup her satin clad arse. I squeezed gently, delighting in being able to touch so much soft skin.

Her hands found their way between us as we snogged, and she made quick work of the fastening on my trousers, allowing gravity to assist with the removal. I toed out of my red trainers and did the same with my socks, because no man can pull off naked in socks, then kicked the lot away. We pulled back and gazed at each other, standing there in only our underthings. I felt myself hardening even further under her heated gaze, and there could be no doubt that she saw how much she affected me.

Touching her tongue to the corner of her mouth, she grinned cheekily at me as she ran one fingertip along he waistband of my last remaining garment. “Boxerbriefs,” she said, her fingernail rasping against the dark grey material. “I wondered.”

“Minx.”

“You love it.”

Rather than tease her back, I brought my hands to her shoulders and slowly trailed them down to entwine our fingers. “Rose, I want to make love to you,” I said, quietly.

Her dark eyes shone in the dim light. “Yes,” she said, breathless. “Please.”

I took her in my arms, lifting her up, and carefully settled her against the pillows at the head of the bed. I paused for a moment to look at her, and like a flash, a memory of a similar situation popped into my head. Rose, in my bed, her skin flushed pink from too much wine. I quickly shucked my pants and leaned down to my bedside table, retrieving a small foil packet from the drawer. Ripping it open with slightly unsteady fingers, I carefully rolled the latex over myself before sliding down onto the bed next to her, my hand running through her hair to cradle her head as I kissed her again. One of her feet trailed up my leg, every hair standing on end at the sensation.

Leaving her mouth, I kissed my way across her jaw and nibbled her earlobe before moving to her neck, laving her pulse and scraping my teeth until she started making tiny high pitched sounds. Already, she was moving restlessly against me and I smiled against her skin, knowing she was growing as desperate as I was. I tasted my way across her collarbone and down to the swell of each breast where I discovered her bra fastened in the front.

Brilliant.

I flung the garment over my shoulder, not caring where it landed, and instantly took one pert pink nipple into my mouth. I moaned against her as I teased the tight bud with my tongue, knowing she would feel the vibrations. I palmed the other breast and teased it with my fingers before switching and giving it the same attentions as the first as Rose writhed beneath me.

Very reluctantly, I slid my mouth to her stomach, teasing her, as my hands went to her knickers. She lifted herself up a bit, helping in their removal, and as I tossed them away I noted with not a little pride that they were utterly soaked. I skimmed my hands down her thighs, spreading her. My eyes roved over her, looking at her damp curls, her heaving chest, her flushed cheeks...

“Doctor,” she moaned, wanting, needing.

Elation tripped through me. Only Rose called me the Doctor. And only Rose would ever scream that name in ecstacy.

I lowered myself down to her and running my tongue along her slit, flicking the tiny bud at the apex. She bucked against me with a cry, her hands tangling themselves in my hair, as I groaned at the taste of her, sweet, salty, tangy. I buried my tongue as far as I could, wanting to get as much of her flavor as possible, noting absently the little thrusting motions she made with her hips. I wouldn’t torment her, I dragged the flat of my tongue up to that wonderful little bundle of nerves and circled around it as I slid two fingers into her. _Ohh..._ She was so _hot._

Rose was singing the most beautiful sounds I’d ever heard as I spelled the alphabet with my tongue and plied her with my fingers. More beautiful, more haunting than any music I’d played or listened to, I wanted to hear it every day, every night, she seared herself into my heart with her song.

I tore my mouth away with a wet smack. “Oh, _Rose,”_ I panted, feeling nearly drugged from the sensory overload, I dragged air into my lungs as I’d somehow forgotten to breathe.

“Please,” she said, clutching at me with shaking hands. “Need you!”

I pulled my hand from her and she whimpered as I licked my fingers, savouring the treat. I leaned forward on one arm and she surprised me by wrapping her hand around my cock and aligning us, my tip coming into contact with her wet heat and I bit out a curse, my eyes squeezing shut. I knew I’d need to concentrate so I wouldn’t embarrass myself.

Grabbing one of her hips with my free hand, I rocked forward and a throaty moan tore itself from her. She gripped me tightly from within, so hot and so wet, and I bit down on my bottom lip, keeping my eyes open so I could watch her, so I could see where we were joined. She hitched her legs around my waist and I slid even further into her. I groaned, my head falling back.

I withdrew then thrust back home. Music poured from her. I was gone.

I learned her as I learned any instrument, teaching myself how to coax the most beautiful sounds from her. I tested her with short strokes, faster, then slower, longer, languidly. I touched her body with long, sweeping motions of my hands, then small, heated touches with my lips and tongue. I knew this one time wouldn’t be enough for me, I would need more, I wanted to spend the rest of my life learning the instrument that was Rose Tyler, creating symphonies only we would hear.

She was gasping and moaning her name for me, her nails raking across my back when I bent to kiss her neck. The mixture of pleasure-pain made me bite down, not enough to harm her, but the red mark I left struck a chord in me. I swirled my tongue around it, sucking lightly until it darkened. Possessiveness swept through me and I wanted the whole world to see the mark I’d made.

Planting her feet on the duvet, she began meeting my thrusts, desperate noises coming from her now as she sought relief from the tightly coiled spring of desire. I leaned over her, our faces close, and she stared back at me, her eyes so dark, so dilated from passion. It seemed like neither one of us wanted to close our eyes, wanting to remember every moment, having lost our first time together. She was with me in this, as she was in everything else. The reaction within myself, growing stronger by the moment, at once thrilled and confused me. I felt whole and complete and at the same time, flying apart. I gripped her tightly to ground myself, so I wouldn’t fracture into millions of pieces as I felt the familiar pressure building inside.

Wanting her to come first, I reached between us, balancing on one arm, and felt for that slippery nub that would send her over. She screamed as I moved my fingers in small frantic circles, her body frozen, bowed over the mattress, her fingers fisted in the sheets. One beat after her cry, her inner muscles clamped down on me, surprising me with the strength of her slick velvet. Watching her come apart beneath me, calling “Doctor!” and feeling her hot wetness grabbing at me intimately was exquisite and pride filled me. I’d done that to her. The wonder of it stayed with me, but drifted to the background as the pressure burst, exploding from me as my eyes finally forced themselves shut and I thrust erratically as I spent myself within her.

My arm buckled and I crumpled to the bed, falling slightly to the side so she wouldn’t bear my entire weight. I panted hard against her neck, feeling her breathing just as roughly as her chest rose and fell against me. I wanted to kiss her, but I needed to catch my breath first. I didn’t want to get up, I wanted to feel her stretched out underneath me and _around_ me forever, but I knew I would have to take care of cleaning up before I softened too much.

And I knew then, it was real. This was no amazing fantasy or dream, because I couldn’t breathe, because I had to leave her to clean up in the loo. Joy swept over my exhausted frame. Rose was here, and she was real, and neither of us would forget this.

Eventually, I was able to lift my head. She turned her face towards me and I captured her lips one more time, slowly, reverently, my mind whispering over and over _I love you, I love you, forever, I love you._


	8. Epilogue: Ever After

Weeks later, we performed for Children in Need to a sold out house. The first two rows had been bought out by the Beeb, the next three had been auctioned off, all for kids who would ultimately benefit from the proceeds of the concert. Rose was beautiful, of course, much of her trademark talks to the audience were directed right at the children and they loved it. They especially liked it when she would tease me and my face would turn red and then I’d tease her right back with a waggle of my eyebrows. They loved our banter. Almost nothing could sound so pure as the laughter of children.

Except for her voice.

The telly airing of the concert, we were told, had a record audience. When Donna called to tell us about it, we were in Scotland at the time; Sexy had decided it was the perfect time for the fan belt to break.

Rose was a natural at traveling, she made friends everywhere we went and never complained about my temperamental car (though she did make a few remarks about my driving, tongue-in-teeth). I brought her to some of my favorite places and seeing them again through her eyes was even better than the first trip. Food tasted better when we shared it, strange beds were more comfortable when she was curled up against my side. Everything was better with two.

After a few months of aimlessly wandering, we each started missing the glow of the footlights. I asked my agent to book us a tour, Rose Tyler and John Smith, performing together across the world. It was exhausting, rushing from place to place, and we loved it.

A year after my ‘love letter,’ I brought us back to the New London Theater, where I’d been booked for another solo night.

I played the music I’d written all year after she’d fallen asleep, the compositions I’d kept hidden away from her, the songs that spoke my love in my own handwriting. My eyes never left hers from where she sat in the wings. I should have told her not to wear too much mascara. Hindsight.

Maybe I should have done it in private, at my flat, or some such, but I am, above all else, a coward and a very bad man. I wouldn’t run too much of a risk of her saying no. At the conclusion of the performance, I brought her on stage and knelt before her and the whole audience, pulling the small velvet box from my pocket. I asked her then if she would marry me.

For a single heart-thudding moment, I thought she might slap me for asking her this way. I might have deserved it. She knew my tricks.

But I should have known better. Rose was forgiving.

She kissed me, running her fingertips down my sideburns because she knew it made me shiver. When she pulled back, she smiled, the special only-for-the-Doctor smile and I knew her answer before she said it. I slipped the ring on her finger and we received a standing ovation as the curtain went down.

I told her I wouldn’t wear my tuxedo for the wedding. Bad luck.


End file.
